tixiivFR«tfTY  OF  KfK? of nc- at chapel I 

SSKfSSJ^A  ■iiiiinii 

8.1,..' «'  ■■"•"""  00°22229660 

Science 


**t<ftu<^Ct 


'/l-£ts\stf        r» tt^nZJEZ^fr 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://archive.org/details/iwillbeladybookfOOtuth 


I  WILL  BE  A  LADY: 


A  BOOK  FOR  GIRLS. 


By  MRS.  TUTHiLL. 


"She  had  a  kindly  word  for  all, 
And  was  a  patient  listener  too, 
Nor  deemed  it  made  her  more  refined 
Her  household  duties  to  eschew." 

Old  Ballad. 

'  Enchanted  with  Polkas,  with  waltzes  delighted, 
Devoted  to  curling,  and  frizzing,  and  flouncing, 

Good  sense  she  despises,  good  manners  has  slighted, 
Herself,  ne'ertheless,  a  fine  lady  pronouncing." 


TWELFTH    EDITION. 


. 


BOSTON: 

WM.  CROSBY   AND   H.  P.  NICHOLS, 

111  Washington  Street 
18  4  8. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1844,  by 

William.  Crosby, 
in  the  Clerk's  office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  District  of 

Massachusetts. 


CAMBRIDGE: 

STEREOTYPED    AND    PRINTED    BY 

METCALF     AND     COMPANY, 

PRINTERS  TO  THE  UNIVERSITY. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

w 

PACE 

I. 

A  pleasant  Welcome, 

1 

II. 

The  puzzling  Word, 

8 

III. 

Zephina's  Mamma, 

18 

IV. 

Girlish  Correspondence, 

.      23 

V. 

Airs  and  Graces, 

29 

VI. 

Friendly  Suggestions, 

.      35 

VII. 

Free  and  Easy,   . 

38 

VIII. 

The  Bower,     .... 

.      49 

IX. 

Parting  Tokens, 

64 

X. 

A  gentle  Reproof, 

.      68 

XI. 

An  unexpected  Invitation, 

74 

XII. 

The  Journey, 

78 

XIII. 

City  Acquaintances, 

85 

XIV. 

Shopping,           .... 

.      01 

XV. 

A  Surprise, 

94 

XVI. 

A    FRIENDLY    VlSIT, 

99 

XVII. 

Les  Tableaux  Vivants, 

102 

XVIII. 

A  Father's  Letter, 

.     110 

XIX. 

An  Jnvalid, 

115 

XX. 

Harriet  Ann  at  Home, 

.     119 

IV 


CONTENTS. 


XXI.  An  awkward  Acquaintance, 

XXII.  A  Friend  in  Affliction, 

XXIII.  Zephina's  Grief, 

XXIV.  Home,  . 

XXV.  An  intended  Marriage    . 

XXVI.  A  new  Friend 

XXVII.  The  future  Mother-in-law 


124 
129 
134 
133 
144 
153 
164 


CHAPTER   I. 


A  PLEASANT  WELCOME. 

Beulah  Morris.  It  is  not  a  pretty  name,  and 
yet  Beulah  was  a  very  pretty  girl,  and  a  nice  girl 
too,  and  as  well  beloved  as  if  her  name  had  been 
Isabella,  Araminta,  or  Sophonisba. 

It  was  sunset,  a  beautiful  sunset  in  June.  Beu- 
lah was  gathering  roses.  She  held  the  two  corners 
of  her  white  apron  in  one  hand,  and  with  a  pair  of 
scissors  in  the  other  carefully  cut  red  and  white 
roses  into  it.  The  front-yard  was  filled  with  flow- 
ers that  Beulah  cultivated,  and  yet  it  was  not  a 
sweet  little  cottage  before  which  they  grew,  but 
a  large,  square  farm-house,  —  a  red  house  ;  there 
were  only  two  white  houses  in  Baxter,  —  the  min- 
ister's and  the  doctor's. 

The  town  of  Baxter  was  named  after  that  man 
of  blessed  memory,  whose  "  last  words"  were  so 


2  A    PLEASANT    WELCOME. 

precious,  that  after  his  death,  they  continued  to 
publish  "  More  Last  Words  of  Richard  Baxter." 
It  is  a  primitive  New  England  village,  where  the 
good  people  have  yet  only  "  heard  tell "  of  a  rail- 
road ;  —  where  no  factories  have  yet  disturbed 
the  pure  streams,  that,  after  flowing  through  the 
green  meadows,  dash  over  the  rocks  in  beautiful 
cascades.  The  wells  still  go  with  a  long  sweep, 
—  a  pole  with  "  the  moss-covered  bucket"  at  one 
end,  and  a  large  stone  at  the  other.  The  old 
brown  houses  are  two  stories  in  front,  and  behind 
slope  almost  down  to  the  ground  ;  but  Squire  Mor- 
ris's house  was  a  red  one,  and  the  rose-bushes 
had  been  sent  from  a  distance,  many  years  before, 
by  the  Squire's  cousin. 

Beulah,  while  filling  her  white  apron,  repeated 
those  sweet  lines  written  by  Mary  Howitt ;  — 

"  God  might  have  made  the  earth  bring  forth 
Enough  for  great  and  small, 
The  oak-tree  and  the  cedar-tree, 
And  not  a  flower  at  all." 

Mrs.  Morris  came  to  the  door.  "  Beulah,  my 
child,"  said  she,  "  why  do  you  cut  so  many  flow- 
ers ?  you  know  I  want  them  for  rose-water." 

"You  spared  them  this  morning,  mother,  and 
told  me  1  might  have  my  apron-full ;  see,  it  is  only 


A   PLEASANT   WELCOME.  3 

just  full,"  replied  Beulah,  showing  her  heaped-up 
treasures  ;  "  and  you  know,  as  the  bushes  were  sent 
us  by  Mrs.  Whately,  it  is  no  more  than  right  that 
she  should  enjoy  as  many  of  the  roses  as  she  can. 
See,  mother,  how  beautiful  they  are.  I  cannot 
think  they  were  only  made  for  rose-water,  for  we 
might  have  had  that, 

1  And  not  a  flower  at  all.'  " 

"You  are  a  queer  child,  Beulah,  a  very   queer 
child.     And  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  the 


roses 


?  " 


"  Ornament  the  white  room,  the  nice  spare 
chamber,  for  Mrs.  Whately,"  replied  the  little  girl. 

"  And  be  laughed  at,  as  a  silly  little  country- 
girl,  for  your  pains,"  said  the  mother. 

Beulah  could  not  think  so.  "  The  lady  would  not 
have  sent  them  so  far  for  a  present,"  said  she, 
"  if  she  did  not  love  roses." 

"  She  knew  they  were  good  for  rose-water ;  — 
but  follow  your  own  notion,"  said  Mrs.  Morris. 

While  Beulah  flew  to  the  spare  chamber  to  ar- 
range the  roses,  Mrs.  Morris  spread  her  supper- 
table  ;  —  cold  ham  stood  in  friendly  nearness  to 
sweetmeats,  and  pickles  kept  their  sourness  to 
themselves  by  the  side  of  cakes  and  pies  ;  —  the 


4  A    PLEASANT    WELCOME. 

broiled  chickens,  toast,  and  hot  potatoes  waited  for 
the  arrival  of  the  visiter. 

Squire  Morris  now  came  in  from  the  labors  of 
the  farm,  followed  by  two  stout  lads,  his  sons. 

"Well,  wife,  all  in  order? — that's  right,- — 
dressed  in  your  Sunday  best ;  I  don 't  think  I  shall 
make  much  change  myself, —  only  try  to  be  a  little 
neater.  There  's  no  comfort  in  being  untidy. 
Azariah  and  Medad,  if  you  are  ashamed  of  your 
every-day  clothes,  you  can  rig  up  a  little." 

Azariah  did  not  choose  to  take  the  trouble,  but 
Medad  went  to  put  on  his  Sunday  suit. 

While  the  Squire  was  performing  his  ablutions, 
a  plain  but  handsome  carriage,  with  a  pair  of 
sleek  black  horses,  drove  up  to  the  door,  and  all 
the  way  down  the  front-yard  to  the  gate  went  the 
Squire,  vigorously  wiping  hands  and  face. 

From  the  carriage  stepped  a  lady  of  about 
thirty-five. 

"  Well  now,  cousin  Whately,  this  is  kind,  to 
come  so  far  to  see  us,"  said  the  Squire,  giving  the 
lady  a  hearty  kiss.  Then,  seeing  there  was  a 
very  gaily  dressed  person  in  the  coach,  he  said, 
"  Is  n't  the  other  lady  going  to  get  out  ?  " 

Mrs.  Whately  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "  That  is  one 
of  my  domestics  ;"  then,  addressing  the  coachman, 


A    PLEASANT    WELCOME.  O 

"  Thomas,  you  may  drive  back  to  the  inn  we  have 
just  past,  with  your  wife,  and  remain  till  I  send 
for  you,  after  you  have  placed  my  luggage  within 
the  yard." 

The  man  did  as  he  was  ordered,  while  the  Squire 
whispered,  "  Why  do  you  send  them  to  the  tav- 
ern; we  have  room  enough  for  all  your  folks. 
Though  't  would  n't  be  quite  so  pleasant  for  such 
smart  pieces  to  be  in  the  kitchen  with  old  Cato 
and  his  wife." 

"I  prefer  that  they  should  stay  there,"  replied 
she,  and  the  coachman  mounted  the  box  and 
drove  off. 

"  I  've  no  doubt  they  '11  take  that  smart  body  for 
the  lady  at  the  tavern,"  said  the  Squire,  "and 
she  '11  play  off  her  airs  at  a  great  rate." 

Mrs.  Morris  received  Mrs.  Whately  with  the 
same  cordiality  as  the  Squire  had  done. 

"  This  is  little  Beulah,"  said  Mrs.  Whately. 

"  I  had  no  idea  that  she  could  be  so  tall ;  you  must 
be  nearly  twelve  years  old,  dear." 

44 1  am  quite  twelve,"  replied  Beulah. 

44I  do  n't  believe  you  would  have  known  the 
boys,  Azariah  and  Medad ;  they  will  soon  be  as 
tall  as  their  father." 

44 1  should  not,  indeed,"  replied  Mrs.  Whately, 


D  A    PLEASANT    WELCOME. 

looking  up  to  the  boys,  either  of  whom  would 
have  measured  six  feet  in  his  stockings,  although 
the  oldest  was  not  yet  nineteen. 

Mrs.  Whately  was  shown  into  the  spare  cham- 
ber, to  take  off  her  travelling-dress,  and  soon  de- 
scended to  the  sitting-room. 

The  Squire  handed  round  a  brimming  glass  of 
brandy  toddy,  which  Mrs.  Whately  declined,  say- 
ing she  did  not  know  that  so  ancient  a  custom 
was  yet  retained  in  any  part  of  New  England. 

"  I  go  for  comfort,  cousin  Whately,  and  so  does 
my  old  woman,"  said  the  Squire,  taking  a  drink 
and  passing  it  to  the  boys.  "  But  come,  sit  down 
and  try  how  you  can  make  out  a  supper  from 
country  fare." 

Mrs.  Whately  looked  around  upon  the  bountiful 
table  as  she  sat  down,  and  said,  "  Your  luxurious 
fare  speaks  of  more  than  comfort,  and  some  one, 
Mrs.  Morris  I  suppose,  has  a  love  of  the  beautiful." 

Mrs.  Morris  did  not  understand  the  allusion,  and 
blushed  without  making  any  reply. 

"  The  roses  so  tastefully  arranged  in  the  room 
you  have  appropriated  to  me  look  beautifully. 
The  snow-white  curtains  looped  up  with  the  pink 
roses,  and  the  white  ones  laid  along  the  dark  man- 
tel, have  a  charming  effect.  Their  perfume,  too, 
gave  me  a  delicious  welcome." 


A    PLEASANT    WELCOME.  7 

"  O,  that  was  some  of  Beulah's  nonsense,"  said 
the  mother. 

"  How  came  you  to  think  of  that,  child  ?  "  in- 
quired the  father. 

"  The  flowers  that  I  love  so  dearly,"  replied 
Beulah,  "  I  have  often  been  told  were  sent  to  us  by 
Mrs.  Whately,  and  I  thought  it  would  please  her  to 
find  they  were  still  as  beautiful  as  ever." 

"  Why,  she  spends  half  her  time  when  out  of 
school  in  tending  them,"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  laugh- 
ing, "  and  she  often  talks  to  them  as  if  they  were 
living  beings." 

"I  am  glad  they  have  given  you  so  much 
pleasure,"  said  Mrs.  Whately.  The  sweet  smile 
that  accompanied  the  words  Beulah  did  not  per- 
fectly understand,  but  it  went  bright  and  warm  to  - 
her  heart,  like  a  sunbeam  into  one  of  her  own 
roses. 


CHAPTER   II 


THE  PUZZLING  WORD. 

Long  before  daylight  the  next  morning,  Mrs. 
Whately  was  awakened  by  a  variety  of  sounds, 
very  different  from  those  to  which  she  was  accus- 
tomed. She  could  sleep  in  spite  of  the  rattling  ot 
carts  over  the  paved  street,  but  the  farm-yard 
chorus  of  cows,  pigs,  turkeys,  chickens,  geese, 
and  guinea-hens  was  quite  too  much  for  her. 
She  arose  and  enjoyed  that  beautiful  sight,  so  sel- 
dom seen  in  the  city,  —  a  glorious  sunrise.  The 
first  civility  offered  her  on  descending  to  the 
"  sitting-room  "  was  a  glass  of  bitters. 

"  No,  no ;  Cousin  Joab,  do  not  offer  me  any 
thing  of  the  kind  ;  I  never  drank  ardent  spirits  in 
my  life,  and  it  would  not  be  well  to  begin  just  as 
every  one  else  is  leaving  off.  Have  n't  you  a 
Temperance  Society  yet  in  Baxter  ?  " 


THE    PUZZLING    WORD.  9 

"No,  we  have  n't ;  our  minister  says,  we  hard- 
working folks  require  a  little  spirits  now  and 
then,"  replied  the  Squire. 

"  That  accounts  for  your  having  formed  no  so- 
ciety of  that  kind.  He  probably  indulges  himself 
in  the  use  of  it." 

"  He  takes  a  leeile,  a  very  leetle,  occasionally," 
was  the  reply. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it,  because  his  example  is 
important  to  his  parishioners,"  said  Mrs.  Whately. 

"There  is  our  Beulah,  now,"  said  the  mother; 
"  she  has  read  some  of  those  temperance  stories, 
and  she  would  n't  drink  a  drop  for  the  world." 

Again  that  smile  of  approbation  from  Mrs. 
Whately  made  the  little  girl's  heart  throb  with 
pleasure. 

While  they  were  at  breakfast,  in  rushed  a  young 
girl  without  any  ceremony,  and,  throwing  her 
bonnet  aside,  took  a  vacant  seat  at  the  table. 

"  Do  n't  you  see  the  lady,  Finey,"  said 
Squire  Morris. 

The  girl  scarcely  looked  up,  but,  bowing  slight- 
ly, said,  "  How  d'  ye  do,  Ma'am,"  and  .  com- 
menced eating  with  a  right  good  appetite  the  nice 
things  that  the  Squire  heaped  upon  her  plate. 

She  was  dressed  in  an  old,  faded  satin,  a  rich 


10  THE    PUZZLING   WORD. 

material  so  disfigured  that  it  was  almost  impos- 
sible to  tell  that  the  original  color  was  purple. 
The  bonnet,  too,  of  yellow  silk,  was  made  for  an 
older  person,  and  had  been  razeed  to  suit  the  pres- 
ent wearer ;  in  consequence  of  frequent  exposure 
to  all  sorts  of  weather,  the  artificial  flowers  had 
streaked  it  red  and  green. 

"  What  a  forlorn  specimen  of  the  shabby  gen- 
teel," thought  Mrs.  Whately. 

"  Take  another  piece  of  beefsteak,  Finey,"  said 
the  Squire ;  "  I  like  to  see  you  take  comfort.'1 

"  And  Finey  will  take  a  drink  of  cider  ?  "  said 
Medad,  laying  his  hand  upon  a  large  pitcher. 

"  No,  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Medad  ;  I  prefer  coffee," 
replied  the  girl ;  "  but  I  wish  you  would  not  call 
me  Finey ;  I  do  n't  admire  any  thing  fine ;  and 
besides,  I  do  n't  like  that  young  men  should  speak 
to  me  in  that  manner." 

"  Good,"  said  Azariah,  striking  the  table  with 
his  fist  till  the  crockery  fairly  danced  ;  "  call  him 
Daddy." 

"  I  shall  do  no  such  thing,"  replied  she,  blush- 
ing ;  "  I  would  not  be  so  impertinent.  Do  not  think, 
because  I  am  such  a  wild  harum-scarum,  that  I 
have  no  sense  of  propriety." 

Mrs.  Whately  was  much  amused  by  this  con- 


THE    PUZZLING    WORD.  11 

versation.  "  Your  young  friend,"  said  she  to  Beu- 
lah,  "  seems  to  have  some  very  just  notions.  You 
must  introduce  us  to  each  other." 

Beulah  did  not  understand  the  ceremony  of  an 
introduction,  but  her  young  visiter  did,  and,  look- 
ing for  the  first  time  into  Mrs.  Whately's  face,  she 
was  much  surprised  to  see  an  exceedingly  lady- 
like stranger.  She  blushed  deeply  as  she  said, 
"  My  name,  Madam,  is  Zephina  Fanshaw.  I  was 
named  for  my  father ;  —  his  name  was  Zephaniah. 
I  hope  you  will  excuse  my  rudeness,  and  you, 
too,  Mrs.  Morris,  in  not  noticing  there  was  a  stran- 
ger at  table."  Then,  rising  hastily,  she  continued, 
*  Will  you  allow  Beulah  to  walk  a  little  distance 
with  me,  Mrs.  Morris,— just  down  the  field  behind 
the  house." 

u  Yes,  Zephina,  but  you  must  not  keep  her 
long,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Certainly  not,  when  she  has  so  much  reason 
to  wish  to  be  at  home,"  said  Zephina,  looking  at 
Mrs.  Whately. 

"  Beulah  is  going  to  show  me  her  flowers  while 
the  dew  is  upon  them,  this  morning,"  said  Mrs. 
Whately. 

"  Come,  Beulah  dear,  make  haste,  then ;  I  '11  not 
detain  you  long,"  said  she,  and  the  faded  yellow 
2 


12  THE    PUZZLING   WORD. 

bonnet  was  tossed  on  the  head,  receiving  a  glance 
of  ineffable  scorn  from  its  wearer,  who,  bidding  a 
hasty  "  good  morning,"  left  the  house,  followed 
by  Beulah. 

They  had  gone  but  a  few  steps  from  the  house 
when  Zephina  said,  "  Pray  tell  me,  Beulah,  who 
that  woman  is  at  your  house  ?  " 

"•  It  is  my  father's  cousin,  Mrs.  Whately." 

"  Your  father's  cousin !  "  exclaimed  Zephina ; 
"  they  do  n't  look  any  more  alike  than  an  oyster 
and  a  cream-cake.  I  wonder  that  I  did  not  no- 
tice her  when  I  came  in.  Your  father  is  so  kind 
and  helps  me  to  so  many  good  things  that  I  can 
see  nothing  else.  But  I  shall  enjoy  no  more  of 
these  nice  times,  for  mamma  has  forbidden  me  to 
go  any  more  to  your  house,  because  she  says 
country  folks  are  all  vulgar.  Now  do  n't  be  an- 
gry, Beulah,  because  she  does  not  know  your 
family,  a  single  one  of  them;  if  she  did  she 
could  n't  help  loving  you  all  as  I  do ;  and  you 
know  it  is  my  only  pleasure  to  see  you,  and  come 
to  your  house." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Zephina,  but  I  am  not  angry, 
for  I  do  not  know  what  your  mother  means  by 
vulgar,"  said  Beulah. 

"  Only  not    genteel,"  replied  Zephina,    while 


THE    PUZZLING   WORD.  13 

the  large  tears  rolled  out  upon  her  cheeks ; 
"  poor  mamma  wishes  to  make  me  a  lady,  but  she 
never  will  succeed,  never.  I  may  sit  with  my 
toes  turned  out  and  my  shoulders  braced  back  to 
a  board,  practise  on  the  piano  four  hours  a  day 
and  study  four  more,  and  yet  not  become  a  lady. 
I  like  much  better  to  enjoy  the  country  and  the 
good  honest  country  folks.  They  are  as  happy 
again  as  the  city  folks  that  I  used  to  see ;  I  re- 
member their  cross,  proud  looks." 

"  But  Mrs.  Whately  is  from  the  city,"  said 
Beulah,  "  and  she  does  not  look  cross  and  proud." 

"  That  she  does  not.  She  is  a  lovely  wo- 
man. I  would  not  call  her  a  lady  for  any  thing, 
for  I  hate  the  very  name.  But,  Beulah,  she  is 
waiting  for  you,  and  we  must  part.  I  shall  come 
often  to  this  old  oak-tree.  This  shall  be  our 
place  of  meeting,  and  our  post-office,  too ;  for  I 
mean  to  write  to  you,  and  you  must  answer  my 
letters." 

"I  will  try,"  said  Beulah;  and  they  threw 
their  arms  around  each  other's  necks.  A  dozen 
kisses  were  interchanged,  and  they  parted. 

"  I  do  n't  know  much  about  them,"  said  the 
Squire  in  answer  to  Mrs.  Whately's  inquiry, 
"  Who  are  the  Fanshaws  ?  "     "  Nobodv  seems  to 


14  THE    PUZZLING   WORD. 

make  out  much,  though  it  is  n't  for  want  of  pry- 
ing. Mrs.  Fanshaw  is  a  widow,  and  Finey  is  her 
only  child.  They  live  down  at  the  cottage,  as 
they  call  it,  about  half  a  mile  off.  I  like  Finey, 
and  I  love  dearly  to  see  her  eat,  for  I  've  got  a 
notion  that  she  is  kept  on  short  allowance  at 
home.  I  've  asked  her  to  come  and  take  a  meal 
with  us  often,  and  she  generally  drops  in  about 
this  time  in  the  morning,  before  her  mother  is  up, 
I  reckon." 

"  She  is  always  dressed  in  some  such  old  Crazy- 
Kate  finery  as  she  had  on  this  morning,"  said  Mrs. 
Morris ;  "  I  never  saw  her  have  on  any  thing  fit 
for  a  respectable  young  girl  in  my  life." 

"  And  yet,  for  all  that,  she  looks  better  than  any 
girl  in  our  meeting-house,"  said  Medad. 

Beulah  returned  home  sad  and  thoughtful. 
Her  mild  hazel  eyes,  usually  so  clear,  were  red 
with  weeping. 

"  Why,  what  ails  my  darling  ?  "  said  the  Squire. 

Beulah  replied  at  once,  "  Mrs.  Fanshaw  has  for- 
bidden Zephina  to  come  here  any  more." 

"  That,  indeed  !  "  said  he.  "  Well,  we  can  do 
much  better  without  her  than  she  can  without  us. 
She  will  look  leaner  and  paler  than  ever  now. 
Did  she  give  any  reason  for  this  ?  " 


THE    PUZZLING   WORD.  15 

M  She  did,  but  I  had  rather  not  mention  it,"  said 
Beulah,  almost  weeping.  That  word  "vulgar" 
applied  to  her  dear  parents ;  how  could  any  one  be 
so  cruel !     Yet  she  did  not  understand  il. 

"  This  is  very  strange,  child,"  said  Mrs  Morris. 
"  You  must  not  look  so  sorrowful.  Mrs.  Whate- 
ly  has  been  waiting  for  you  a  long  time,  to  show 
her  your  beloved  flowers." 

"  Come,  Beulah,"  said  Mrs.  Whately,  "  the  sun 
will  soon  rob  your  favorites  of  their  freshness  ; " 
and,  taking  Beulah  by  the  hand,  they  went  out  to- 
gether. 

"  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  question,  Mrs.Whate- 
ly,"  said  Beulah,  after  they  had  been  some  time 
in  the  garden.  "  And  yet  I  do  not  know  that  it 
would  be  quite  right.' 

"  Ask  any  question  that  you  please  of  me,"  kind- 
ly replied  Mrs.  Whately. 

Thus  encouraged,  Beulah  commenced,  "  Zephi- 
na's  mother  will  not  allow  her  to  come  to  our 
house  because  she  thinks  we  are  vulgar ;  will  you 
please  to  tell  me  what  that  ugly  word  means  ?  " 

Mrs.  Whately  hesitated  a  moment,  and  her  young 
companion  whispered,  u  Is  it  because  our  family 
drink  spirits  ?  I  saw  you  did  not  approve  of  that, 
and  I  have  thought  for  some  time  that  it  was  not 
right." 


16  THE    PUZZLING   WORD. 

"  That  practice  is,  in  these  days,  considered  vul- 
gar by  many,  and  I  hope  your  family  will  soon 
give  it  up,"  was  the  reply. 

"  I  will  try  to  persuade  them  to  do  it,"  quickly 
replied  the  amiable  girl. 

Mrs.  Whately  did  not  think  it  right  to  let  the 
matter  pass  thus,  and  added, "  There  are  many 
ways  in  which  the  word  is  used,  but  incorrectly ; 
nothing  is  really  vulgar  excepting  what  is  mean, 
improper,  or  wicked.  Some  mistaken  persons 
apply  it  to  those  who  do  not  live  in  an  elegant 
and  stylish  manner.  Zephina's  mother  probably 
used  it  in  this  sense.  You  have  felt,  my  dear 
Beulah,  that  there  is  a  glory  and  a  beauty  in  the 
works  of  creation, — that  many  things  are  not 
alone  useful,  —  that  this  world,  with  its  glorious 
sky,  and  its  green  hills  and  valleys,  its  woods 
and  its  beautiful  flowers,  was  not  made  thus, 
merely  for  a  place  to  eat,  drink,  work,  and 
sleep  in,  but  that  the  beings  for  whom  it  was 
made  so  excellent  might  admire  and  enjoy  it, 
and  lift  up  grateful  hearts  to  the  beneficent  Cre- 
ator ;  and,  as  in  the  natural  world  there  is  this 
beauty,  so  in  human  character,  in  the  heart  it- 
self, there  may  be  such  goodness  and  such  re- 
finement as  to  give  a  bloom  and  beauty  to  the  ac- 
tions." 


THE    PUZZLING   WORD.  17 

Although  Beulah  Morris  did  not  perfectly  un- 
derstand Mrs.  Whately,  yet  there  was  something 
in  her  very  soul  that  responded  to  the  sentiments 
of  her  new  friend.  She  was  silent  and  thought- 
ful for  a  while,  then  her  large,  soft  eyes  looked 
earnestly  in  Mrs.  Whately's  face  as  she  said ; 
"  The  kindness  of  my  father  and  mother  is  beau- 
tiful to  me." 


CHAPTER  III. 


ZEPHINA'S  MAMMA. 

At  a  rattling  old  piano  sat  the  disconsolate 
Zephina,  laboring  over  a  piece  of  music.  Her 
mother's  patience,  never  very  remarkable,  was 
now  quite  exhausted, 

"  You  are  the  most  stupid  girl  in  the  world, 
Zephina,"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  you  will  never  be  fit 
for  fashionable  society." 

"  From  all  I  know  of  fashionable  society,  stu- 
pidity would  fit  me  better  for  it  than  any  thing 
else,"  pettishly  replied  Zephina. 

"  This  all  comes  from  your  being  so  much 
of  late  with  those  Homespuns  in  that  horrid  red 
house.  Did  you  tell  them  I  could  not  permit  you 
to  come  there  again  ?  "  inquired  her  mother. 

"  1  did,"  replied  Zephina.  "  I  had  a  nice 
breakfast  first,  and  then  how  mean,  how  cruel,  it 


zephina's  mamma.  19 

was  to  tell  Beulah  that  I  could  not  come  to  see 
her  again  because  country  folks  are  vulgar.  She 
is  much  more  genteel  now  than  I  am,  or  ever 
shall  be.  She  looks  sweetly  in  her  snow-white 
aprons  and  homespun  frocks.  I  prophesy  that 
she  will  one  day  make  as  elegant  a  woman  as 
her  father's  cousin,  Mrs.  Whately." 

"  And  who  is  she  ?  " 

"A  very  lovely  woman  whom  I  saw  there 
this  morning,  dressed  so  neatly,  —  so  —  I  do  n't 
know  what  to  call  it,  for  I  hate  the  word  genteelly. 
And  then  her  carriage,  that  dark  green  coach, 
with  the  rich  hammer-cloth,  and  the  coal-black 
horses,  —  all  plain,  yet  so  very  elegant." 

"  And  you  say  this  was  the  Homespuns'  cou- 
sin ?  "  eagerly  inquired  Mrs.  Fanshaw. 

"  Squire  Morris's  cousin,  I  said,  mamma,  and 
she  had  none  of  the  fixed-up  look  that  I  do  so 
abominate.  Please  give  me  something  to  wear 
besides  this  old  trumpery,  —  these  old  silk  dresses 
and  Madge  Wildfire  bonnets." 

"  I  wish  I  had  known  before  that  there  was  such 
a  lady  visiting  at  the  farm-house,"  said  Mrs.  Fan- 
shaw, without  taking  any  notice  of  her  daughter's 
request.  "  Cannot  you  make  some  excuse  to 
call  again  and  find  out  something  more  about 
her?"  3 


20 

"  No,  mamma ;  I  cannot  degrade  myself  by 
such  meanness  ;  —  they  are  kind-hearted  excellent 
people  ;  — -  the  nice  old  Squire  ;  I  love  him  dearly. 
I  did  not  say  the  fine  woman  that  I  saw  there 
was  a  lady ;  —  you  know  I  never  call  people  that 
I  like  ladies." 

"  O  Zephina,  you  have  such  shockingly  low 
tastes,"  in  a  piteous  tone  whined  Mrs.  Fanshaw. 
"  I  do  not  know  what  will  become  of  you  ;  I  think 
T  shall  call  on  the  lady  myself." 

"  You,  mamma !  why  should  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  if  her  equipage  is  so  splendid  as  you 
say  it  is,  she  must  be  somebody."  was  the  reply. 

"  If  it  is  the  carriage  and  horses  that  you  re- 
spect so  much,  you  can  call  upon  them  at  the  tav- 
ern, for  there  is  where  1  saw  them,"  said  Ze- 
phina. 

"  You  are  a  very  provoking  girl,  Zephina,  and 
I  can  never  make  you  understand  these  things." 

"  0  mamma,  excuse  my  impertinence  ;  I  know 
it  is  wrong,  but  indeed  I  do  see  too  plainly  into  the 
ways  of  the  world  ;  —  I  am  old  before  my  time." 

Mrs.  Fanshaw  made  no  reply,  but  went  to  ar- 
ray herself  to  call  on  the  stranger. 

The  style  of  Mrs.  Fanshaw's  dress  somewhat 
resembled  that  of  Zephina,  though  the  materials 


zephina's  mamma.  21 

were  not  of  such  undeniable  antiquity.  The  sat- 
in shoes,  with  which  she  saw  fit  to  make  her  way 
among  the  stones,  had  to  suffer;  and  her  long 
veil,  floating  far  behind  her,  caught  repeatedly 
upon  the  briers  by  the  road-side.  From  her  sal- 
low complexion,  and  the  expression  of  discontent 
and  affectation  upon  her  countenance,  one  would 
have  judged  that  the  pure  sources  of  health  and 
happiness  were  lost  to  her ;  —  that  face  it  was 
painful  to  behold. 

When  she  arrived  at  the  farm-house,  she  had 
entirely  forgotten  the  lady's  name,  and  was 
obliged  to  inquire  for  Mrs.  Morris.  Beulah,  who 
came  to  the  door,  said  that  her  mother  was  not  at 
home  ;  she  had  gone  to  see  a  sick  neighbour. 

"  Is  the  lady  at  home  who  is  visiting  here  ? 
Mrs.  —  what  is  her  name  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Whately  ?  "  said  Beulah ;  "  she  is  here. 
Will  you  walk  in  ?  " 

Mrs.  Fanshaw  did  so  ;  and,  handing  her  card 
to  Beulah,  said  ;  "  That  is  a  card,  with  my  name 
on  it,  girl ;  give  it  to  the  lady."  Then,  as  she 
took  a  seat  in  the  little  parlour,  and  glanced  at  the 
home-made  carpet  and  plain  furniture,  the  marked 
smile  of  contempt  that  distorted  her  mouth  called 
up  a  rosy  blush  to  the  face  of  Beulah  Moras. 


22 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Whately  had  read  the  name, — 
"  Mrs.  Zephaniah  Fanshaw,"  —  she  quietly  laid 
the  card  upon  the  table,  saying,  "  Beulah,  dear, 
please  say  to  the  lady,  that,  as  I  stay  so  short  a 
time  in  Baxter,  I  receive  no  ceremonious  visits." 

Beulah  gave  the  message  very  politely,  and 
Mrs.  Fanshaw  stalked  out  of  the  house  with  an 
air  of  offended  pride,  much  more  ridiculous  than 
sublime. 

"  How  did  you  like  Mrs.  Whately  ?  "  inquired 
Zephina. 

"  She  was  engaged,  I  presume  ;  but  the  farm- 
er's girl,  not  understanding  etiquette,  gave  me  a 
very  singular  excuse.  It  was  not  genteel  in  the 
person  —  not  genteel  at  all  —  to  send  an  apology  ; 
and  I  dare  say  the  carriage  is  only  a  hired  hack, 
after  all." 

This  singular  mode  of  reasoning  amused  Ze- 
phina exceedingly  ;  but  she  made  no  reply.  She 
went  to  her  room  and  wrote  a  letter,  which,  early 
the  next  morning,  was  conveyed  to  the  post-office, 
under  the  old  oak-tree. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

— ♦ — 

GIRLISH  CORRESPONDENCE. 

zephina's  LETTER. 

"  Dear,  sweet  little  Beulah,  —  rose-bud  of  all 
rose-buds  for  me.  —  Was  n't  it  the  funniest  thing 
for  mamma  to  call  at  your  house  ?  I  laughed  and 
laughed  till  the  tears  ran  out  of  my  eyes,  to  think 
how  you  would  stare  to  see  her  coming  up  the 
yard.  What  a  funny,  funny  world  this  is!  I, 
poor  I,  am  nothing  but  every-day  stuff,  just  fit  for 
every-day  wear  ;  and  yet  am  to  be  made  a  lady, 
Ion  gre^  mal  gre,  that  is,  whether  I  will  or  no ; 
and  you,  dearest  Beulah,  who  are  of  such  nice, 
delicate  stuff,  that  you  are  fit  for  Sundays  and 
holy  days,  may  live  always  in  the  country,  and 
care  not  a  fig  what  any  body  thinks  of  you,  ex- 
cepting those  you  love. 

"  Tell   me   all   about  that  good  woman,  Mrs. 


24  GIRLISH    CORRESPONDENCE. 

Whately.  She  has  such  a  sweet  voice,  and  such 
simple,  natural  manners,  that  I  want  to  see  her 
again  very  much.  You  know  I  have  always 
lived  in  a  large  city  till  a  short  time  since,  and,  of 
course,  have  seen  a  great  many  people.  If  there 
were  more  of  them  like  Mrs.  Whately,  it  would 
not  be  such  a  comical  world  as  it  is." 

"  Give  my  compliments  to  the  green  carriage 
and  the  black  horses  ;  they  ought,  after,  or  before, 
the  owner,  to  command  my  respect.  But  some- 
how I  do  find  it  difficult  to  think  any  more  of  a 
person  merely  because  they  ride  in  a  carriage, 
than  if  they  went  on  foot. 

"  Tell  the  Squire  that  I  did  not  love  him  for 
the  nice  things  he  gave  me,  but  because  he  is 
such  a  dear,  kind  soul.  Yet  I  confess  to  a  love 
of  '  the  goodies '  too.  Now  write  as  you  prom- 
ised, and  put  it  in  the  post-office  for  your  own 

"  Zephina. 

"  P.  S.  Tell  me,  Beulah,  did  Mrs.  Whately 
laugh  at  my  forlorn  old  bonnet,  with  those  old 
flowers,  gone  to  seed  ages  ago  ?  " 

The  next  morning  Zephina  flew  to  the  old  oak, 
and  there  upon  the  stone  was  a  basket  of  cakes, 
and  under  the  basket  the  following  note. 


girlish  correspondence.  25 

"  Dear  Zephina  :  — 

"  Mrs.  Whately  did  not  laugh  at  your  bonnet 
I  do  not  believe  she  would  make  fun  of  any  body, 
let  them  wear  what  they  would.  I  should  like  to 
tell  you  a  great  many  sweet,  pretty  things  that  she 
says  of  you,  but  I  have  not  time,  for  that  good 
woman,  as  you  call  her,  goes  home  to-morrow, 
and  I  want  to  see  her  as  much  as  I  can.  I  must 
tell  you,  though,  she  says  we  must  still  be  good 
friends,  and  that  I  must  let  her  know  all  about  our 
post-office,  and  every  thing  we  do,  after  she  is  at 
home  again.  Only  think,  Zephina,  I  have  got  to 
write  to  her,  and  you  see  what  a  poor  hand  I  am 
at  letter- writing.  In  a  great  hurry.  From  yours, 
always,  Beulah. 

"  P.  S.  Leave  the  little  basket  with  your  next 
letter,  that  I  may  fill  it  again.'1 

Beulah  had  fortunately  had  a  good  master  at 
the  district-school  that  she  attended  every  winter ; 
she  wrote  a  pretty,  neat  hand,  and  her  partial 
friend  was  even  more  delighted  with  the  note  than 
with  the  seedcakes. 

Mrs.  Whately's  visit  had  given  great  pleasure 
to  all  the  Morris  family.     Medad  said,  she  had 


26  GIRLISH   CORRESPONDENCE. 

such  a  kind  way  of  persuading  him  into  it,  that 
he  could  not  help  giving  up  spirits  and  cider. 
The  Squire  thought  he  should  come  round  in 
time,  and  even  Azariah  said  there  was  no  holding 
out  against  such  a  woman's  good  advice. 

Beulah  felt  very  lonely  after  her  departure,  and 
daily  went  to  the  old  oak-tree  for  a  letter  from 
her  young  friend.  To  her  great  joy,  on  the  third 
morning  the  empty  basket  was  there  and  a  full 
letter. 

zephina's  second  letter. 

*  Dearest  and  Sweetest:  — 

"There  is  no  end  of  funny  things.  Mamma 
has  now  got  her  hands  full.  An  old  acquaintance 
of  hers — a  man  who  has  some  way  or  other  made 
considerable  property  in  the  country,  and  has 
lately  moved  to  New  York — has  sent  his  daughter 
to  be  taught  good  manners.  Actually  sent  her 
for  two  months  to  be  taught l  good  breeding,  good 
manners,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,'  as  he  ex- 
presses it. 

"  Now  I  always  thought  that  good  breeding 
meant  the  way  in  which  a  person  was  brought  up, 
all  the  way  along ;  but  I  do  n't  know  but  Harriet 
Ann  Gunn  (for  that  's   her  name)  can  take  it 


GIRLISH    CORRESPONDENCE.  27 

suddenly,  just  as  one  does  the  measles  or  whoop- 
ing-cough. I  wish  you  could  see  this  Harriet 
Ann  make  a  courtesy.  Out  slides  the  right  foot 
about  a  yard,  then  up  jerks  the  other  behind  it, 
then  down,  down,  slowly  goes  the  little  lady  till 
you  do  n't  know  where  she  will  stop ;  then  she 
comes  up  with  a  sudden  flying  out  of  both  hands 
to  help  her  rise.  O,  dear !  It  is  enough  to  kill 
a  body  to  see  this  performance.  But  I  have  n't 
told  you  how  she  looks :  —  Hair,  white  and 
straight  as  candles  ;  eyes,  blue  as  glass  beads, 
staring  right  at  you ;  neck,  long  and  thin ;  nose, 
just  enough  of  it  to  be  called  a  nose;  mouth, 
good  enough  for  every  purpose  ;  ears,  large  and 
white. 

"There,  now,  you  have  Harriet  Ann.  She 
looks  in  the  glass  forty  times  a  day  to  practise 
that  amazing  courtesy,  and  tumbles  over  on  her 
face  almost  as  often,  trying  to  stand  with  her  toes 
turned  straight  out.  She  has  just  left  off  panta- 
lettes, and  feels  very  consequential  in  long  dresses  ; 
but  does  not  know  yet  how  to  manage  them. 
However,  she  thinks  long  dresses  make  her  at 
once  a  young  lady.  O  Beulah!  but  you  ought 
to  hear  her  say  ■  beaucheful,'  and  'I  keant,'  and 
'  garding,'  and  '  kitching,'  and  ever  so  many  such 


28  GIRLISH   CORRESPONDENCE. 

words.  You  must  see  her ;  I  declare  you  must. 
To-morrow  morning  I  will  walk  by  just  after 
breakfast  with  her,  and  if  Mr.  Medad  could  only 
be  at  home,  it  would  be  capital  fun  to  see  that 
courtesy  that  can't  be  described. 

"  I  could  n't  write  before  because  of  the  com- 
ing of  this  Harriet  Ann.  Do  n't  trouble  yourself 
to  fill  the  basket.  I  am  afraid  you  think  I  am  a 
greedy  little  thing  for  a  girl  of  thirteen. 

"  Remember,  to-morrow  morning  by  seven 
o'clock  be  on  the  look  out.     Your  loving 

"  Zephina." 


CHAPTER  V. 


AIRS  AND  GRACES. 

"  Sure  enough,  there  they  come !  "  said  Me- 
dad  the  next  morning,  as  Beulah  and  himself  were 
at  the  window. 

The  tall,  thin  girl,  with  China-blue  eyes,  was 
dressed  in  a  bright  pink  merino,  and  her  winter 
bonnet,  with  red  feathers,  though  it  was  June,  — 
because  the  country  folks  would  not  know  but 
that  was  the  city  fashion. 

As  soon  as  Zephina  saw  Medad  and  Beulah, 
she  said,  "  There  are  some  acquaintances  of 
mine  ;  make  your  courtesy,  Harriet  Ann." 

And  accordingly  out  went  the  foot  for  a  long 
slide,  and  all  the  rest  just  as  Zephina  described  it, 
and  down  went  the  long,  pink  merino  into  the 
dust,  leaving  a  dark  border  around  it.  Beulah 
could  not   refrain    from    smiling,   and    Medad's 


6\)  AIRS   AND   GRACES. 

"  Haw,  haw,  haw,"  might  have  been  heard  half  a 
mile.  But  Miss  Harriet  Ann,  quite  delighted 
with  herself,  had  not  a  suspicion  of  the  cause, 
and  stretching  her  long  neck  to  its  greatest  extent, 
strutted  off  like  a  young  turkey. 

"  What  a  pretty  garding  ! "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Was  that  a  young  gent'man  at  the  window  ? 
I  was  n't  quite  certing,  but  I  thought  I  saw 
one  ?  " 

"  Poor  girl !  it 's  too  bad  to  laugh  at  her,"  said 
Beulah  ;  "  she  did  her  very  best." 

"  No  doubt  of  that ;  and  't  was  worth  a  dollar 
to  see  this,"  replied  Medad,  giving  a  faithful  imi- 
tation of  the  courtesy  as  he  left  the  room. 

Zephina  and  her  companion  had  not  gone  far, 
before  they  met  a  number  of  cows  going  leisurely 
to  pasture. 

"  See  those  horrid  crichures  !  "  exclaimed  Har- 
riet Ann ;  "  I  'm  scared  to  death.  What  shall  I 
do?" 

"  Jump  over  the  fence,"  said  Zephina. 

"  I  can't,  to  save  my  life,"  said  the  girl,  wring- 
ing her  hands,  screaming,  and  running  back. 

The  boy  who  was  driving  the  cows  had  the 
mischievous  spirit  too  often  found  in  boys,  and 
commenced  driving  them   faster.     Harriet  Ann 


AIRS   AND    GRACES.  31 

ran  through  mud  and  mire  as  fast  as  she  could. 
First  she  lost  one  shoe,  then  the  other  ;  at  length, 
a  dog  came  towards  her,  barking,  —  the  cows  in 
full  chase  behind,  the  dog  in  front.  What  could 
she  do  ?  She  tried  to  climb  the  fence,  but  her 
dress  caught,  when  she  had  got  one  foot  over,  and 
there  she  sat,  screaming  and  screeching,  "  This 
nasty  country  !  I  wish  I  was  home  again.  O, 
dear !    O,  dear  !  " 

Her  bonnet  now  blew  off;  the  dog  snatched  it 
up  and  shook  it  at  a  fearful  rate.  Forgetful  of 
her  alarm,  she  scrambled  down  and  seized  hold 
of  it ;  but  the  dog  kept  his  teeth  tightly  shut  upon 
it,  and  Harriet  Ann  and  he  were  having  a  fierce 
contest,  each  pulling  with  all  their  might,  when 
Medad,  whose  dog  it  was,  came  up,  and  calling 
"  Rover,  Rover,  at  them  ! "  the  dog  went  after 
the  cows,  and  they  were  soon  out  of  sight. 

The  velvet  bonnet  was  torn  and  bent  into  the 
most  comical  form,  its  bright  red  feathers  broken 
and  draggled  in  the  mire.  She  however  stuck  it 
upon  the  top  of  her  head,  for  it  was  too  much 
bent  for  the  head  to  gain  admittance  ;  and  thon 
she  went  off  into  that  courtesy,  saying,  "  You  've 
saved  my  life,"  —  bonnet,  she  ought  to  have  said 
— -"and  I  am  unaffectedly  obliged  to  you." 


32  AIRS   AND   GRACES. 

Zephina  had  now  come  up  with  them  ;  she 
leaned  against  the  fence,  for  she  laughed  so  im- 
moderately that  she  could  not  stand  up,  while 
Medad  coughed  violently,  holding  his  handker- 
chief to  his  mouth.  But  the  cough  would  end  in 
a  "  Haw,  haw,"  in  spite  of  him. 

"  Suppose  we  go  and  fish  for  the  lost  shoes," 
seid  Zephina,  as  soon  as  she  could  stop  laughing ; 
pointing  at  the  stocking-feet,  all  covered  with 
mud. 

"  I  '11  help  you,"  said  Medad. 

After  poking  around  for  some  time,  the  shoes 
were  found  full  of  mud ;  but  it  was  impossible 
for  Harriet  Ann  to  put  them  on.  The  stones 
hurt  her  feet,  so  that  at  length  she  began  to 
cry  ;  "  O,  dear !  O,  dear !  I  never  can  walk  so 
far." 

"  Poor  girl ! "  exclaimed  Zephina,  who  began 
really  to  pity  her ;  "  we  '11  make  a  lady-chair 
and  carry  you.  Come,  Mr.  Medad,  you  know 
how." 

So  they  placed  their  hands  together  and  made 
the  lady-chair,  and  Harriet  Ann  was  carried  safely 
to  Mrs.  Fanshaw's  door. 

No  sooner  had  Medad  left,  than  she  said, 
M  That 's  a  very  polite  gent'man.  Does  he  go  in 
the  fust  society  in  Baxter  ?  " 


AIRS   AND    GRACES.  33 

"  Certingly,"  said  Zephina. 

The  exclamations  of  Mrs.  Fanshaw,  on  seeing 
the  shocking  plight  in  which  Miss  Harriet  Ann 
returned,  frightened  her  more  than  either  cows  or 
dog  had  done.  "  How  disgusting !  how  unlady- 
like !  how  awkward  !  how  careless  ! "  A  perfect 
volley  was  poured  forth  upon  the  tattered  and 
mud-bespattered  damsel. 

"  I  thought  it  was  lady-like  to  be  timid,"  said 
Zephina,  partly  out  of  good  nature,  hoping  to  di- 
vert the  torrent  of  rebuke  from  Harriet  Ann. 
"Those  terrific  crichures,  the  cows,  how  could 
they  fail  to  frighten  a  girl  half  out  of  her  wits, 
who  has  lived  in  the  city  two  whole  years  ?  " 

"  It  is  better  to  have  a  little  delicate  timidity, 
than  to  be  utterly  fearless,  as  you  are,  Zephina," 
replied  her  mother.  "  Harriet  Ann  has  a  nervous 
sensibility  that  may  render  her  quite  interesting  as 
a  young  lady." 

Thus  encouraged,  Harriet  Ann  had  a  thousand 
little  "  Ahs,"  and  "  Ohs,"  and  "  Dear  mes,"  and 
shrill  shrieks,  at  the  sight  of  such  harmless  things 
as  bees  and  butterflies,  and  a  caterpillar  or  a  toad 
would  throw  her  almost  into  convulsions.  These 
ridiculous   fears   were  a  perpetual  annoyance  to 


34  AIRS   AND   GRACES. 

Zephina,  who  was  fond  of  looking  at  innocent  and 
often  beautiful  insects,  which  Harriet  Ann,  with 
"  delicate  timidity,"  called  "  nasty  and  disgusting 
things." 


CHAPTER   VI. 


FRIENDLY  SUGGESTIONS. 

Soon  after  Mrs.  Whately  returned  home  she 
wrote  Beulah  the  following  letter. 

"  My  Dear  Beulah  :  — 

"  I  have  thought  very  often  of  you  since  we 
parted.  I  had  a  pleasant  journey  home.  Yet  I 
think  that  my  home  seems  more  solitary  than 
ever  since  my  return. 

"  I  remember  you  asked  me  the  day  before  I 
left  you,  if  I  disliked  the  name  lady;  saying 
that  your  young  friend  disliked  it  very  much.  I 
did  not  answer  you  then  ;  I  will  do  so  now. 

"  I  do  not  dislike  it,  Beulah,  yet  I  should  not 

wish  to  be  called  a  fine  lady ;  a  fine  woman  would 

be  a  much  more  complimentary  term.    Yet  every 

one  would    desire  to   be   called    lady -like ;    tha 

4 


36  FRIENDLY    SUGGESTIONS. 

would  be  understood  to  mean  something  refined 
and  dignified.  It  is  a  high  compliment,  too,  to  say 
of  a  woman  that  she  is  a  perfect  lady,  though  the 
term  has  been  often  misused.  A  perfect  lady  has 
delicacy  of  sentiment  and  delicacy  of  taste.  She 
would  do  nothing  mean,  nor  disgusting,  nor  undig- 
nified ;  nothing,  in  short,  that  would  produce  self- 
contempt.  She  wishes  not  only  to  appear  to 
others  delicate  and  refined,  but  to  be  so,  for  her 
own  sake.  She  would  pay  great  attention  to  the 
feelings  of  others,  that  she  might  not  wound  them 
in  any  way.  This,  and  much  more,  springs  from 
delicacy  of  sentiment.  In  her  dress,  manners, 
and  every  thing  belonging  to  her  condition  as  a 
woman,  she  would  manifest  a  certain  propriety, 
that  we  call  delicacy  of  taste. 

"  We  should  perform  our  duty  to  God,  my 
dear  Beulah,  not  that  we  may  be  called  good  or 
pious,  but  simply  because  it  is  our  duty,  and  be- 
cause we  love  Him  who  has  a  right  to  our  obedi- 
ence. 

"  In  the  same  manner,  we  should  perform  our 
whole  duty  to  ourselves,  because  it  exalts  us  as 
rational  beings,  and  makes  us  more  happy.  We 
should  be  kind  and  polite  to  others,  not  to  gain 
the  name  of  a  lady,  but  because  we  love  our 
fellow-beings,  and  wish  to  do  them  good. 


FRIENDLY    SUGGESTIONS.  37 

"  All  these  things  I  hope  you  will  understand  in 
time.  Confide  to  me  any  difficulties  you  may 
encounter,  and  I  will  try  to  solve  them.  There  is 
nothing  so  lovely  in  a  woman  as  an  amiable  dis- 
position. A  very  distinguished  author  said,  'Of 
all  external  objects  a  graceful  person  is  the  most 
agreeable ;  in  vain  will  a  person  attempt  to  be 
graceful  who  is  deficient  in  amiable  qualities.'  I 
am  afraid  your  young  friend  Zephina,  from  her 
dislike  of  fine  ladies,  has  fallen  into  an  opposite 
extreme,  and  is  in  danger  of  being  rude  and  hoy- 
denish.  This  her  good  sense  will,  I  trust,  in  time, 
correct ;  for  Pope  says, '  Good  manners  are  the 
blossoms  of  good  sense.' 

"  I  send  you,  dear  Beulah,  a  dressing-case.  It 
is  for  every-day  use.  Combs,  hair-brush,  tooth- 
brush, and  nail-brush ;  —  may  they  do  you  excel- 
lent service.  Exquisite  neatness  will  make  even 
a  plain  girl  look  charmingly  in  my  eyes. 

"  There  are  some  trifles,  too,  marked  with  the 
names  of  the  friends  for  whom  they  are  designed, 
which  I  beg  you,  dear,  to  present  in  the  name  of 
your  sincere  friend,  Laura  Whately." 

"  Why  can't  I  be  a  lady  ?  "  thought  Beulah 
Morris 


HAPTEE,  VII, 


FREE  AND  EASY. 

Bexjlah  was  gathering  strawberries,  —  "  red, 
ripe  strawberries.'"  Zephina  and  Harriet  Ann 
were  taking  a  morning  walk.  Beulah  was  stoop- 
ing down,  and  so  busily  occupied  that  she  did  not 
observe  the  girls  approach. 

Harriet  Ann  stepped  up  to  her  and  said,  "  Little 
girl,  give  me  some  of  your  strawberries,  will 
you  ? " 

Beulah  handed  her  the  basket,  which  was  half 
full,  and  she  commenced  eating  them  vora- 
ciously. 

Zephina  stood  off  at  a  little  distance  to  enjoy 
the  interview.  Beulah  seated  herself  upon  a  large 
stone,  while  Harriet  Ann  continued  to  devour  the 
berries. 

"  What  horribly  thick   shoes   you  wear,  girl ! 


FREE   AND    EASY.  39 

Have  n't  you  got  any  better  ones  ?  "  inquired 
Harriet  Ann. 

"  They  answer  my  purpose  very  well,"  replied 
Beulah. 

"  Certingly,  they  are  just  right  for  one  who  has 
to  go  about  picking  berries  among  all  these  nasty 
stones  and  briers,  but  how  queer  they  would  look 
in  Broadway.  And  what  a  strange  dress  you 
have  on  ;  I  mean  how  queer  it  is  made.  You 
do  n't  have  the  costumes  here  very  often  I  sup- 
pose.    Who  is  your  dress -maker  ?  " 

"  My  mother,"  replied  Beulah. 

"  Is  she  a  dress-maker  by  trade  ?  I  never  heard 
there  was  such  a  thing  in  this  vulgar  place.  Does 
she  go  out  by  the  day,  or  take  in  work  ?  " 

"  She  has  no  reason  for  going  out,  since  she 
makes  only  her  own  dresses  and  mine,"  replied 
Beulah. 

"  That  is  so  queer,  now ;  I  suppose  she  is  too 
poor  to  hire  a  dress-maker.  Was  you  ever  in 
any  place  but  this  horrid  Baxter  ?  " 

"This  place  is  very  pleasant  to  me,  since  I 
have  seen  no  other  excepting  the  neighbouring 
town  of  Perkinsville,"  answered  Beulah,  with  per- 
fect coolness. 

The  strawberries  were  nearly  all  eaten. 


40  FREE   AND   EASY. 

u  Where  can  Zephina  be  all  this  time,"  said 
Harriet  Ann,  handing  back  the  basket,  and  about 
to  offer  Beulah  one  cent ! 

At  the  name  of  her  friend  she  sprang  up,  and, 
Zephina  jumping  out  from  behind  a  large  sweet- 
brier  bush,  they  were  soon  in  each  other's  arms. 

"  Come,"  said  Zephina,  after  almost  smothering 
Beulah  with  kisses,  "  come,  dearest,  let  us  go  to 
work  and  fill  your  basket  again.  I  '11  help  you 
make  up  what  that  city  lady  has  devoured. 
Was  n't  it  fun  alive  to  hear  that  dialogue  ?  "  and 
she  began  picking  with  all  her  might. 

"  Do  n't  trouble  yourself,  Zephina,  for  it  is  your 
own  loss.  I  happened  to  see  some  uncommonly 
fine  strawberries  just  here  this  morning,  and 
thought  I  would  gather  some  for  you." 

"  So,  then,  Miss  Harriet  Ann  Gunn,  I  do  n't 
thank  you  at  all  for  cramming  down  my  fruit.  I 
wish  you  could  see  yourself,  with  your  face 
stained  from  ear  to  ear." 

The  girl's  eyes  opened  wider  than  ever  with 
astonishment  to  think  this  was  Zephina's  friend 
Beulah,  of  whom  she  had  heard  her  talk  so  much ; 
but  she  stood  speechless,  trying  to  recollect  what 
she  had  said  while  eating  the  berries. 

"  Well,  Beulah,  do  n't  mind  about  the  loss  to 


FREE   AND   EASY.  41 

me ;  we  must  go  home  now.  Good  by,  little 
girl ;  does  your  mother  go  out,  or  take  in  work  at 
home  ?  "  imitating  exactly  Harriet  Ann's  voice 
and  manner. 

"  Is  this  the  world  of  which  I  want  a  sight  ? 
Are  these  the  beings  who  are  called  polite  ?  " 

Beulah  might  have  said  as  she  wended  her  way 
homeward,  for  such  were  her  thoughts. 

She  was  no  sooner  out  of  hearing  than  Harriet 
Ann  began, — u  You  do  n't  say,  Zephina,  that  such 
an  unbecomingly  dressed  crichure  as  that  be- 
longs to  the  fust  society.  It  can't  be.  I  thought 
she  was  some  poor  body  picking  berries  for  a 
living." 

"  And  so  you  thought  you  would  help  her,  by 
eating  them  all  up  ?  "  said  Zephina. 

"  Why,  I  was  just  going  to  offer  her  a  cent,  as 
she  jumped  up  at  the  sound  of  your  name." 

"  Merciful  me  !  "  exclaimed  Zephina  ;  "  one 
cent,  for  what  was  worth  a  shilling,  if  she  had 
been  picking  them  for  her  living.  One  cent !  I 
wonder  what  the  generous  Squire  would  have 
said  to  that.  It 's  too  good  a  joke,  and  yet  I  'm 
glad  Beulah  did  not  see  it." 

"  If  folks  are  any  thing  or  any  body,  I  say  they 


42  FREE   AND   EASY. 

ought  to  dress  so  that  other  folks  who  are  some- 
body may  know  it,"  said  Harriet  Ann. 

"  A  very  neatly  worded  sentence  !  About  as 
clear  as  your  notions  of  gentility." 

"  Do  n't  be  angry,  Zephina  ;  I  am  sorry  I  ate 
up  your  strawberries,"  said  Harriet  Ann. 

"  Do  you  think  I  care  for  the  loss  of  a  few 
strawberries  ?  "  replied  Zephina,  almost  fiercely. 
"  No,  not  a  bit.  It  is  because  you  insulted  my 
dearest  friend.  I  endured  your  impertinence  as 
long  as  I  could  ;  but  if  I  had  seen  the  grand 
flourish  at  the  end  of  it,  I  verily  believe  I  should 
have  forgotten  myself,  and  boxed  your  ears 
soundly." 

"  I  hope  I  shall  never  see  the  girl  again," 
whimpered  out  Harriet  Ann. 

"  I  hope  in  all  conscience  you  never  will,"  was 
the  reply. 

But  this  was  not  the  only  annoyance  inflicted 
by  Harriet  Ann  during  the  two  months  of  her 
visitation.  Zephina  could  not  write  to  Beulah, 
without  being  surprised  at  seeing  a  long  braid  of 
light  hair  hanging  over  her  own  shoulder,  and, 
upon  looking  up,  there  were  those  great  blue  eyes 
staring  right  down  upon  the  paper.  When  told 
that  it  was  very  bad  manners  to  look  over  a  per- 


FREE    AND    EASY.  43 

son  who  was  writing,  Harriet  Aim  would  say  ; 
"  I  think  I  have  a  right  to  look  over  you,  for  I 
know  you  are  going  to  say  something  about  me." 
If  Zephina,  when  very  much  interested  in  a  book, 
chanced  to  lay  it  down  for  a  moment,  up  it  was 
snatched  by  the  impertinent  visiter,  fend  detained 
to  rest  her  elbow  upon  it,  as  long  as  she  saw  fit, 
in  spite  of  the  longing  looks  of  the  impatient 
reader. 

Mrs.  Fanshaw  kept  but  one  domestic,  and  as 
that  was  the  name  universally  given  to  those  who 
went  out  to  service  in  Baxter,  Lucy,  a  good,  hon- 
est Yankee  girl,  chose  to  be  called  a  domestic ; 
but  Harriet  Ann,  in  opposition  to  the  request  of 
Mrs.  Fanshaw,  always  called  her  a  servant. 
4  Will  you  order  your  servant  to  do  this  or  that  ?  " 
was  repeated  twenty  times  a  day  in  Lucy's  pres- 
ence. At  one  time  she  would  treat  this  girl  with 
the  greatest  contempt,  and  give  out  her  orders  in 
the  most  imperious  manner ;  then  she  would  be 
on  terms  of  the  greatest  familiarity  and  even  in- 
timacy, borrowing  from  her  articles  of  wearing 
apparel,  such  as  collars  and  pocket-handkerchiefs. 

Lucy,  too,  was  made  the  confidant  of  all  her 
grievances.  She  never  saw  such  a  mean  woman 
as  Mrs.  Fanshaw  ;  they  did  n't  have  any  thing 
5 


44  FREE   AND    EASY. 

good  to  eat ;  they  must  be  dreadfully  poor ;  she 
wondered  how  Lucy  could  ever  expect  to  have 
her  wages  paid;  they  were  not  genteel  people 
at  all. 

At  the  dinner-table  she  would  look  at  every 
dish  with  a  dissatisfied,  contemptuous  expression, 
which  made  her  upper  lip  almost  touch  her  nose  ; 
and,  when  offered  any  thing,  would  perhaps  con- 
sent to  take  a  little  meat  and  a  little  rice,  saying, 
however,  she  never  ate  such  things  at  home. 

"  She  takes  what  she  at  first  professed  to  loath, 
And  in  due  time  feeds  heartily  on  both ; 
Yet,  still  o'erclouded  with  a  constant  frown, 
She  does  not  swallow,  but  she  gulps  it  down." 

She  called  all  animal  food  meat,  or  fowls,  or 
fish ;  and  when  Mrs.  Fanshaw  told  her  she  should 
always  name  the  kind  of  meat, — as  beef,  mutton, 
&c,  —  or  of  birds,  —  as  turkey,  duck,  chicken  — 
or  of  fish,  —  as  salmon,  haddock,  &c,  —  Harriet 
Ann  was  quite  offended,  and  said  she  did  not  know 
one  from  the  other ;  and  if  she  did,  she  should  be 
mistaken  in  New  York  for  a  butcher's  daughter. 
She  knew  they  never  did  so  in  the  city,  or  if  they 
used  to  when  Mrs.  Fanshaw  lived  there,  they 
did  n't  now.  This  was  her  unfailing,  and,  in  her 
opinion,  unanswerable  argument.  "  They  do  n't 
do  so  in  the  city,"  or  "  They  do  so  in  the  city." 


FREE   AND    EASY.  45 

She  never  troubled  herself  to  wipe  her  feet  on 
the  mat  at  the  door,  and  would  come  in  with  them 
covered  with  mud,  and,  drawing  one  of  them 
under,  would  settle  herself  upon  Mrs.  Fanshaw's 
ottoman  without  the  least  hesitation.  This,  her 
habitual  mode  of  sitting,  with  one  foot  under 
her,  was  vastly  inconvenient ;  for,  when  obliged 
to  rise  in  haste,  she  was  in  danger  of  pitching 
head  first  upon  the  floor,  and  finding  herself  with 
a  flattened  nose. 

Heartily  glad  were  Mrs.  Fanshaw  and  her 
daughter  when  the  day  of  Harriet  Ann's  departure 
arrived.  The  two  months  had  expired.  A  short 
time  indeed  to  teach  good  manners  to  one  habitu- 
ally ill-bred,  and  so  conceited  withal,  as  to  sup- 
pose herself  the  veiy  personification  of  gentility  ! 
Years  of  teaching,  both  by  precept  and  example, 
would  have  had  but  little  effect  upon  Harriet  Ann 
Gunn. 

She  dressed  herself  for  the  journey  in  that  self- 
same soiled  pink  merino  in  which  she  had  first 
appeared,  with  all  her  gaudy  trinkets  about  her 
person,  —  ear-rings,  bracelets,  and  all.  When  the 
stagecoach  drove  up  to  the  door,  she  handed  Lucy 
an  old  faded  hair-ribbon,  that  she  had  done  wear- 
ing herself,   for   a   present.      And   when   Lucy 


46  FREE    AND    EASY. 

looked  at  it  with  surprise,  she  said,  "  Why  do  n't 
you  make  a  courtesy,  girl,  and  say  '  Thank  you, 
Ma'am  '  ?  Ha'  n't  you  got  no  manners  ?  There, 
take  my  trunk  and  carry  out,  —  quick."  The 
gentleman  who  was  to  take  the  charge  of  her  on 
the  journey  home  handed  her  into  the  stagecoach. 
She  had  not  so  much  as  thanked  Mrs.  Fanshaw 
and  Zephina  for  their  kindness  and  attention,  but, 
as  the  coach  was  about  to  drive  off,  she  gave 
them  a  sort  of  supercilious,  condescending  bow, 
as  much  as  to  say,  "  I  have  done  you  great  honor 
by  staying  a  couple  of  months  with  you,  in  your 
humble  cottage." 

"  O,  would  some  power  the  giftie  gie  us, 
To  see  oursel's  as  others  see  us, 
It  would  from  many  a  folly  free  us, 
And  foolish  notion." 

LETTER  FROM  HARRIET  ANN  TO  ZEPHINA. 

Soon  after  Harriet  Ann  left  Baxter,  she  ad- 
dressed the  following  letter  to  Zephina,  which,  as 
it  was  never  answered,  was  the  only  one  with 
which  she  was  afflicted. 

"  New  York,  August  28th. 
"  Deer  Zephina  :  — 

"  I  told  you  I  would  let  you  know  how  I  got 


FREE   AND   EASY.  47 

home,  so  I  write  to  let  you  know  1  got  home  safe, 
but  very  mutch  fatuged. 

"  I  found  pa  was  n't  very  well ;  but  between 
you  and  I  and  the  post,  I  do  n't  think  he  is  sick, — 
only  cross  and  low-spirited.  I  teezed  him  till  he 
let  me  go  to  dancing-school,  which  I  begun  last 
Teusday.  I  am  going  to  learn  to  gallophard  and 
to  waits,  and  after  a  while  to  learn  the  Mazoorker. 
You  know  I  can  dance  Spanish  dances  and  cotil- 
yons  very  well  now  ;  but,  as  I  am  determined  to 
be  a  complete  lady,  you  know  I  must  learn  all 
these  things  purfectly. 

"  O,  do  you  know  I  have  got  the  sweetest 
Parris  bonnet !  It  is  a  purfect  little  love,  and 
cost  fifteen  dollars.  Pa  scolded  and  scolded 
about  it,  because  he  said  it  was  ecstravvagunt  for 
a  thin  summer  bonnet ;  but  it  is  the  most  'become- 
ing  thing  you  ever  see,  and  no  body  that  is  any 
body  wears  an  American  bonnet  now-a-days. 

"  Can't  think  how  you  content  yourself  in  the 
country  with  those  common  folks,  the  Morrises. 
For  my  part,  I  was  delighted  to  get  back  to  the 
citty,  though  a  great  many  folks  are  so  silly  that 
they  are  now  in  the  country.  I  have  got  to  go 
and  practice,  so  I  can't  write  any  more  at  present. 
From  your  affecsionate  freind, 

"  Harrietta  Anna." 


48  FREE   AND   EASY. 

Bad  spelling  is  so  common  among  young  girls, 
that  they  scarcely  consider  it  vulgar  ;  yet  nothing 
more  completely  stamps  an  ill-educated  person. 
A  letter,  however  fine  the  composition  and  writing 
may  be,  is  vulgar  if  misspelt.  Ungrammatical 
expressions,  too,  like  those  of  Harriet  Ann,  are 
quite  too  frequently  heard.  And,  besides  these, 
that  thick,  inarticulate  enunciation,  and  what  is 
called  clipping  of  words,  is  often  spoken  of  as 
a  marked  peculiarity  in  Americans  who  style 
themselves  ladies.  There  is  a  French  proverb, 
"  You  know  a  lady  when  she  opens  her  mouth  "  ; 
and  it  is  as  true  here  as  in  France.  It  is  very 
easy  to  discover  a  well-bred  girl  by  her  good 
grammatical  English,  well  pronounced  and  dis- 
tinctly enunciated. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 


THE  BOWER. 

By  the  old  oak-tree,  Beulah,  with  the  aid  of 
Medad,  built  a  rustic  bower.  To  be  sure  it  was 
only  made  of  long  hoop-poles,  bent  into  a  circu- 
lar form  and  fastened  into  the  ground ;  but  flow- 
ering-beans, morning-glories,  and  honeysuckles, 
planted  there  by  Beulah,  soon  covered  it  with  a 
graceful  drapery  of  leaves  and  flowers. 

Medad  placed  a  rude  bench  within  the  bower, 
upon  which  the  girls  often  sat  for  an  hour  in  the 
morning,  in  social  chat,  and,  lest  it  should  be  damp 
for  their  feet,  he  had  paved  it  with  white  pebbles. 
In  one  corner  was  a  box  marked  "  P.  O.,"  in 
which  frequent  letters  were  deposited ;  and  often, 
too,  the  little  basket  was  there  filled  with  delica- 
cies, which  Zephina  carried  home  and  shared  with 
her  mother. 


50  THE    BOWER. 

Not  far  from  the  bower,  a  sweet  little  silvery- 
brook  merrily  danced  along  over  the  smooth  peb- 
bles, from  whose  green  margin  the  speckled  trout 
darted  forth  and  then  retreated.  Arm  in  arm,  the 
girls  often  followed  its  meandering  course,  to  the 
place  where  it  fell  over  the  rocks,  in  a  sparkling 
little  cascade,  and  then  returned  through  a  beau- 
tiful grove  near  by. 

Every  day  some  new  beauty  was  added  to  the 
beloved  bower.  Beulah  brought  the  most  pre- 
cious flowers  from  her  garden  and  placed  them 
there,  and  Zephina  transplanted  wild  flowers  from 
the  woods,  which  bloomed  sweetly  beside  their 
foreign  companions.  She  printed  in  large  capi- 
tals, "  Sacred  to  Friendship,"  and  placed  it  di- 
rectly in  front,  and  it  lasted  till  —  the  first  heavy 


ram 


It  was  one  of  the  loveliest  days  in  September, 
and  Mrs.  Fanshaw  had  given  Zephina  the  privi- 
lege of  passing  the  whole  afternoon  in  the  bower. 
Beulah  had  brought  out  a  little  table  and  tea- 
apparatus,  and  they  were  to  take  tea  there,  and 
talk  over  their  past  lives,  —  for  up  to  this  time  Ze- 
phina had  never  mentioned  her  former  place  of 
residence.  They  had  gathered  wild  flowers  and 
evergreens,  to  tie  into  wreaths  to  hang  up  in  fes- 


THE    BOWER.  51 

toons  about  the  bower,  and  while  thus  employed 
Zephina  began  her  story. 

"  Once  there  was  a  girl  who  lived  in  New 
York.  Is  n't  that  the  way  that  all  children  begin 
a  story  ?  Can  you  believe  it,  Beulah,  I  never 
went  out  of  the  bounds  of  the  city,  till  I  was 
twelve  years  old  ;  all  beyond  it  was  in  the  Miz." 

"  Where  is  that  ?  "  asked  Beulah. 

"You  know  in  the  fourth  commandment  it 
says,  i  in  heaven  and  earth,  the  sea,  and  all  that  in 
them  ts.'  When  I  was  a  mere  child  I  understood 
it,  'and  all  that  's  in  the  Miz' ;  and,  O,  how 
many  conjectures  I  made  about  that  queer  place. 
All  the  dwarfs,  giants,  and  fairies  that  I  read 
about,  and  all  the  odd  creations  of  my  own  imag- 
ination, the  funniest  things,  all  lived  in  the  Miz. 
Now  when  I  think  of  it,  I  do  believe  that  all 
that  was  not  New  York  was  to  me  in  the  Miz. 
In  the  nursery  the  first  trouble  that  I  remember 
was  an  eating-apron." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  an  eating-apron,  dear  ; 
one  that  was  only  worn  to  eat  in  ?  "  asked  Beu- 
lah. 

"  Exactly  so  ;  a  tier,  pinafore,  or  whatever  you 
choose  to  call  it,  that  I  was  obliged  to  get  for  my- 
self and  put  on,  before  I  could  eat  any  thing. 


52  THE    BOWER. 

Then  I  might  spill  and  daub  as  much  as  I  pleased, 
if  my  dress  was  only  safe.  I  exclaimed  then, 
4  An  eating-apron  is  the  plague  of  my  life  ! '  and 
I  have  often  thought  so  since,  for  I  never  learned 
to  eat  carefully  and  neatly ;  to  this  day,  as  you 
may  have  noticed,  my  dresses  are  covered  with 
spots.  If  it  had  n't  been  for  those  plagues  of 
eating-aprons,  I  should  have  learned  to  carry  my 
food  safely  to  my  mouth,  without  poking  my 
head  clear  over  my  plate." 

"  I  think  you  might,  Zephina,"  said  Beulah, 
"  for  I  have  worn  white  aprons  ever  since  I  can 
remember,  and  my  mother  never  let  me  have  on 
more  than  three  a  week.  If  I  soiled  them,  I  was 
obliged  to  wear  them  for  a  punishment.  Only 
see,  I  wear  them  now,  at  thirteen,  just  as  I  did 
when  I  was  a  very  little  girl ;  but  I  can  keep  one 
clean  a  whole  week  —  unless  I  tie  wreaths,"  said 
she,  smiling  to  see  how  she  had  already  soiled 
the  snow-white  apron. 

"  Well,  I  must  have  been  a  real  torment  in  the 
nursery,"  continued  Zephina ;  "  for  I  took  no  care 
at  all  of  m)'  clothes ;  and  when  they  were  off, 
either  left  them  scattered  about  for  the  nurse  to 
pick  up,  or  kicked  them  into  a  heap,  which  habit, 
I  am  sorry  to  say,  I  have  but  just  left  off.     An- 


THE    BOWER.  53 

other  naughty  trick  that  I  learned  in  the  nursery- 
was,  to  eat  as  fast  as  I  could,  and  all  that  was 
sent  to  me.  Even  now,  I  never  look  out  for 
any  body  but  myself  at  table. 

"  You  would  have  laughed,  Beulah,  to  see  me 
eat  up  the  soft  milk-toast  provided  for  an  invalid 
gentleman  where  we  were  visiting.  I  did  not  ob- 
serve that  it  was  made  on  purpose  for  him,  and 
placed  in  a  little  covered  dish  by  the  side  of  his 
plate.  When  he  lifted  the  cover,  I  looked  so 
lovingly  at  the  toast,  that  the  kind  old  gentleman 
offered  me  a  piece.  I  took  it,  and  finding  it  very 
nice,  helped  myself  till  the  dish  was  entirely 
empty,  and  the  poor  sick  man,  who  had  eaten  but 
half  a  slice,  looked  at  me  with  a  grim  kind  of  a 
smile  and  remarked,  that  I  '  really  had  an  uncom- 
monly fine  appetite.' 

"  Another  time  I  went  with  mamma  to  take  tea 
with  a  very  rich  old  lady  who  did  not  attend  par- 
ties, but  only  invited  a  friend  now  and  then,  as  a 
great  favor.  She  was  a  particular  sort  of  a  lady. 
Mamma  had  often  told  me  that  she  was  one  of  the 
most  complete  ladies  of  the  old  school.  I  used  to 
wonder,  by  the  way,  whose  school  that  was. 

"  At  the  tea-table,  which  was  furnished  with  the 
richest  silver  and  the  most  beautiful  china  that  I 


54  THE    BOWER. 

had  ever  seen,  I  found  the  biscuits  quite  to  my 
liking,  though  they  were  so  small  that  I  always 
called  them  stingy  biscuits  ;  so,  every  time  they 
were  handed  round  I  took  one,  till  at  length 
mamma,  quite  mortified,  said,  '  Zephina,  dear, 
you  seem  very  fond  of  Mrs.  Foote's  delicious 
biscuits.'  '  Why,  mamma,'  said  I,  l  they  are 
very  small,  and  I  've  only  eaten  seven.' 

"  The  look  the  lady  gave  me  ought  to  have 
frightened  me  ;  but  somehow  it  was  so  droll,  that 
I  was  just  ready  to  laugh ;  but,  hoping  the  laugh 
would  go  down  with  some  tea,  I  took  a  large 
swallow  of  it,  but  the  laugh  would  come.  I  held 
my  hand  over  my  mouth,  but  the  tea  spattered 
between  my  fingers  all  over  the  table,  while  I 
coughed  and  strangled,  dropped  my  cup,  and 
broke  both  cup  and  saucer. 

"  I,  who  was  to  be  educated  for  a  lady  from 
my  very  cradle,  with  such  vulgar  manners ! 
Mamma's  well-bred  friend  looked  absolutely  hor- 
ror-struck. But  do  you  know,  Beulah,  I  never 
felt  the  importance  of  refined  manners  till  since  I 
have  seen  such  an  example  of  the  want  of  them 
in  Harriet  Ann.  Now  I  have  resolved  to  break 
myself  of  those  disgusting  nursery  habits. 

"Another  of  my  trials  was  to  be  dressed  for 


THE    BOWER.  55 

company.  They  put  my  hair  into  papers,  for  it 
was  no  more  inclined  to  curl  than  a  bunch  of 
jack-straws  ;  and,  O,  they  did  pull  and  hurt  me 
unmercifully  to  get  them  out  and  in  order,  at  a 
moment's  warning,  when  I  was  called  for  in  the 
drawing-room.  I  remember  once  being  thus 
dressed,  just  like  a  miniature  fine  lady,  and  car- 
ried down  to  be  shown  to  visiters.  Some  one 
proposed  that  I  should  be  set  upon  a  marble  cen- 
tre-table, and  recite  a  piece  of  poetry.  With  the 
reward  of  a  whole  pound  of  candy  which  was 
promised  me  in  a  whisper,  I  undertook  to  recite 
Wordsworth's  l  We  are  Seven.' 

"  No  doubt  I  murdered  that  beautiful  little 
piece.  At  any  rate,  there  must  have  been  a 
striking  contrast  between  poor  over-dressed  me, 
and  the  '  simple  child '  with  l  a  rustic  woodland 
air.'  I  do  not  know  whether  I  thought  of  any 
such  thing,  then,  or  whether  the  sweet  sentiment 
of  the  little  girl  who  would  insist  they  still  were 
seven  had  touched  my  young  heart.  But,  when 
the  flatterers  praised  me  to  the  skies,  calling  me 
the  best  little  lady  in  the  world,  I  burst  into  pas- 
sionate crying,  and  said,  lI  am  not  a  good  little 
lady.  I  'm  the  naughtiest  little  girl  that  ever 
was.'     Then  I  was  dismissed  in  disgrace  to   the 


56  THE    BOWER. 

nursery,  and  the  pound  of  candy  that  I  had  fair- 
ly earned  was  unjustly  refused  to  my  entreaty. 
But  poor  mamma  must  be  excused,  for  she  was 
a  very  fashionable  lady,  and  meant  that  I,  her 
only  daughter,  should  become  very  accom- 
plished. Do  n't  you  pity  me,  Beulah,  for  all 
these  troubles  ?  " 

"  I  do,  indeed ;  but  yet  I  think,  Zephina,  you 
ought  to  have  been  more  anxious  to  please  your 
mother." 

"  I  was  anxious  to  please  her,  but  then  I  never 
took  the  right  way.  I  believe  I  was  born  for  the 
country,  for  I  have  a  natural  love  of  it,  and 
I  never  cared  for  the  balls,  concerts,  theatres, 
and  parties,  to  which  mamma  always  took  me. 
Then  I  hated  flattery,  because  I  had  a  genu- 
ine love  of  truth.  I  do  not  remember  ever  to  have 
told  but  one  falsehood  in  my  life,  and  of  that  I 
am  even  at  this  time  so  much  ashamed,  I  can't 
bear  to  think  of  it.  When  I  was  about  ten  years 
old,  the  gentlemen  who  visited  at  our  house  talked 
to  me  a  great  deal,  and  I  answered  them  with 
simple  truth,  in  such  a  way,  often,  as  to  give  of- 
fence ;  and  mamma  scolded  me,  telling  me  I  was 
dreadfully  impolite. 

"  I  remember  once,  in  particular,  a  gentleman 


THE   BOWER.  57 

praised  my  beautiful  natural  curls,  as  he  called 
them,  and,  soon  after,  asked  me  if  I  did  not 
like  him.  '  No,  Sir,  I  do  not  like  you,'  I  an- 
swered. ;  Why  not  ? '  he  asked,  in  the  most 
coaxing  tone.  'Because,  Sir,  you  do  not  tell 
the  truth.'  'That  is  a  great  accusation  for  a 
little  lady  to  make.  What  have  I  said  that 
was  untrue  ? '  he  inquired.  I  told  him  he  knew 
very  well  that  my  curls  were  not  natural,  for 
they  had  just  been  taken  out  of  papers,  and  were 
as  stiff  as  wires.  He  laughed  heartily,  telling 
me  that  I  would  never  do  for  a  fashionable  lady,  — 
I  was  altogether  too  honest. 

"  Sitting  up  late  at  night  made  me  pale  and 
sickly,  and  I  do  not  believe  I  should  have  lived 
till  this  time,  if  it  had  not  been  for  this  dear 
Baxter,  and  the  comfort  I  have  taken  here." 

"  But,  Zephina,  did  you  never  have  any  play- 
things ? "  said  Beulah.  "  When  I  was  a  child, 
I  can't  remember  that  I  ever  did  any  thing  but 
play.  Medad  and  I  used  to  build  cob-houses  in 
the  garret,  and  slide  down  on  the  hay  in  the  barn, 
and  I  had  rag-babies,  that  I  dressed  and  un- 
dressed, made  their  clothes,  and  washed  and 
ironed  them.  We  used  to  build  bridges  over 
the   brooks,  and,  in  winter,   make  great   snow- 


58  THE    BOWER. 

ball  houses,  and  go  coasting  down  the  hills,  and 
sliding  on  the  ice.  And  I  have  always  had  my 
garden  and  my  flowers." 

"  O,  delightful!"  exclaimed  Zephina,  "how 
you  must  have  enjoyed  yourself!  But  I  never 
was  a  child,  —  never.  You  need  not  smile,  Beu- 
lah ;  you  think  I  am  childish  enough  now ;  —  but  I 
mean,  I  never  had  any  such  joyous  childhood  as 
you  describe. 

"  I  had  two  great  wax-dolls,  beautifully  dressed  ; 
but  I  was  not  allowed  to  play  with  them.  O, 
no;  one  was  to  walk  out  with  in  Broadway. 
She  was  dressed  in  the  height  of  the  fashion 
by  the  mantuamaker,  and  always  had  a  new 
bonnet  every  time  I  had  one,  exactly  like  mine  ; 
I  called  her  Miss  Prim.  The  other  was  in  full 
dress,  blue  satin  with  a  lace  over-dress.  I  had  to 
carry  her  into  the  drawing-room,  and  was  taught 
to  hold  her  very  gracefully.  She  was  Miss  Prue. 
I  almost  hated  both  of  them,  and  used  to  cry  be- 
cause Miss  Prim  was  so  heavy  that  it  really  tired 
my  arm  to  carry  her,  while  nurse  dragged  me 
along  by  the  other.  So,  one  day  when  I  was 
alone,  I  smashed  in  Prim's  nose,  picked  out 
Prue's  eyes,  and  cut  off  every  silken  curl  from 
their  doll-ships'  heads,  and  there  was  an  end  of 


THE    BOWER.  59 

dolls  for  me.  I  was  n't  allowed  to  use  a  needle 
much,  for  fear  it  would  spoil  my  fingers ;  no 
wonder  it  invented  all  kinds  of  mischief. 

"  But,  Beulah,  dear,  I  did  have  one  darling  pet, 
the  sweetest  little  lapdog,  with  a  blue  ribbon 
round  his  neck ;  I  loved  him  dearly,  but  he  some- 
times would  soil  his  little  feet,  and  then  he  would 
jump  upon  me,  and  spoil  my  dresses,  or  I  would 
take  him  up  when  a  big  dog  was  coming  along 
and  carry  him,  and  mamma  was  obliged  to  give 
him  away,  and  I  cried  for  weeks,  and  I  can't  think 
of  him  now  —  the  little  darling  —  without  being 
just  ready  to  cry. 

"But  see,  Beulah,  what  a  long  wreath  I've 
made,  and  yours  is  longer  yet.  Let  us  fasten 
them  up,  and  then  you  must  tell  your  story. 
There,  now,  they  look  beautifully,  it  really  is  like 
a  fairy  palace.  We  must  make  one  more  wreath 
just  to  go  round  our  motto.  Come,  Beulah,  go  on 
with  your  history." 

"  I  have  very  little  to  tell.  You  know  I  have 
always  lived  in  the  country,  and  have  never  been 
to  any  place  larger  than  Perkinsville,  ten  miles 
off.  Of  course  I  love  the  country  and  my  own 
plain,  kind  family.  One  of  the  first  things  that  I 
remember  distinctly  is  my  great  love  for  sister 


60  THE    BOWER. 

Eunice.  She  was  the  oldest  of  the  family,  and 
so  good  and  so  beautiful  that  she  seemed  to  me 
different  entirely  from  all  other  human  beings. 
Is  n't  it  strange  ?  She  has  been  gone  ever  since 
I  was  six  years  old,  and  yet  I  remember  her 
perfectly,  and  her  sweet  smile  often  comes  be- 
fore me  when  I  am  asleep  and  when  I  am  awake." 

"  And  where  has  she  gone  ?  "  asked  Zephina, 
with  surprise. 

"  To  heaven,"  solemnly  replied  Beulah.  u  She 
died ;  and  they  told  me  she  was  going  to  heaven 
to  be  an  angel.  I  went  into  the  room  where  she 
was  laid  out,  so  pure  and  white,  with  her  long 
hair  loose,  and  still  in  its  natural  ringlets.  I  put 
my  hand  upon  her  icy  forehead ;  I  think  I  feel 
the  chill  now  it  was  so  dreadful.  Then  I  sat 
down  by  her  side  and  waited,  for  I  expected  to 
see  her  go  away  with  angel's  wings,  as  I  had 
seen  them  in  the  great  Bible.  There  I  sang  the 
little  hymns  she  had  taught  me,  for  in  my  child- 
ishness I  thought  it  would  comfort  her,  and  one 
of  the  hymns  happened  to  be  the  one  beginning, 

'  Vital  spark  of  heavenly  flame, 
Quit,  O,  quit  this  mortal  frame.' 

I  was  singing  this,  when   my  mother  found  me 


THE    BOWER.  61 

there,  and  she  called  my  father  to  listen,  and 
never  shall  I  forget  how  they  cried  and  sobbed, 
as  if  their  hearts  were  breaking.  I  told  them 
what  I  was  waiting  for,  and  they  drew  me  away, 
telling  me  that  my  sister's  spirit  would  go  to 
heaven,  but  that  her  beautiful  corpse  must  be 
laid  in  the  cold  grave.  It  was  the  first  time  that 
I  had  heard  of  the  grave,  and  it  made  me  very 
sorrowful  for  a  long  time  that  my  sweet  sister 
should  be  covered  up  in  that  dark  place. 

"  The  way  in  which  I  was  finally  comforted 
may  seem  to  you  strange,  Zephina.  One  eve- 
ning I  had  stayed  longer  than  usual  in  the  front- 
yard.  I  had  always  been  to  bed  at  or  before 
sundown.  That  evening  I  discovered  something 
very  wonderful  in  the  clear  western  sky,  and 
asked, 4  What  is  that  ?  What  is  that  bright  thing 
far  away  there,  over  the  tops  of  the  trees  ? '  '  Why, 
child,  it  is  a  star  ;  did  you  never  see  a  star  before  ?  * 
1  No,  mother ;  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing. 
Did  you  ever  see  it  before  ?  *  She  told  me  that 
was  the  evening  star,  but  that  the  whole  sky  was 
brilliant  with  stars  every  clear  night.  ■  And 
do  they  never  come  down  to  the  ground  ? '  l  No  ; 
they  always  stay  in  the  same  place  in  the  heav- 


62  THE   BOWER. 

"  I  went  to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  As  soon  as  it 
was  dark,  I  got  up  and  opened  the  window-shut- 
ter, and  looked  out,  and  there  were  those  beauti- 
ful stars  shining  in  the  sky,  —  and  there  my  sister 
has  gone,  I  thought ;  —  there  she  still  lives,  — 
somewhere  far  off  among  those  bright  stars, — 
and  in  some  mysterious  way  she  has  passed 
through  the  dark  grave  to  reach  them,  —  and  1 
was  comforted.  And,  Zephina,  ever  since,  I  love 
the  stars  with  a  solemn  kind  of  joy  that  I  can't 
describe.  And  when  I  told  my  mother,  she  said, 
1  We  know  that  the  dead  shall  rise  again  to  im- 
mortal life,  because  our  blessed  Saviour  rose 
from  the  grave,  and  ascended  to  heaven.'  And 
she  read  me  all  about  the  Saviour  in  the  great 
Bible,  and  I  have  loved  that  holy  book  ever 
since,  and  read  it  more  than  any  other." 

There  was  a  pause  of  a  few  moments ;  —  then 
Zephina,  with  eyes  full  of  tears,  said,  "  Well,  you 
are  a  dear,  good  little  soul,  as  pure  as  those  white 
lilies." 

"  O,  no,  Zephina,  I  am  not ;  you  do  n't  know 
how  hard  I  find  it  to  be  good.  There  is  scarcely 
a  day  passes  that  I  do  n't  commit  some  fault  for 
which  I  am  sorry." 

"  Well,  nobody  sees  them  but  yourself,"  re- 
plied her  partial  friend. 


THE    BOWER.  63 

"  You  forget,  dear  Zephina,  there  is  one  who 
sees  all  evil  things  in  our  hearts." 

"  I  have  forgotten  this  too  long,"  was  the 
sincere  reply ;  "  but  I  am  sorry,  and  shall  try  to 
be  a  better  girl,  especially  to  my  mother." 

They  suspended  the  wreath  around  the  motto, 
and  then  they  put  the  tea-kettle  on  a  little  furnace, 
that  Medad  had  built  near  the  bower  ;  and  some 
short  sticks  of  wood  were  there,  and  some  coals 
nicely  covered  over  with  ashes.  Soon  they  had  a 
bright  fire.  And  they  spread  their  table  with  a 
white  napkin,  and  placed  upon  it  cake,  biscuits, 
and  sweetmeats.  And,  when  the  tea  was  ready, 
they  made  a  signal  for  Medad  by  clapping  their 
hands ;  —  and  he  came,  but  there  was  no  seat 
for  him,  and  he  was  so  tall  that  his  head  touched 
the  top  of  the  bower,  and  Zephina  told  him  he 
must  kneel,  for  that  was  the  way  that  knights 
errant  of  olden  time  did  in  the  presence  of  la- 
dies. Never  was  a  repast  more  enjoyed  than 
that  in  the  bower  "  Sacred  to  Friendship." 


CHAPTER  IX, 


PARTING  TOKENS. 


The  pure  enjoyments  of  that  rude  bower  and  its 
post-office, — what  in  after  life  could  equal  them  ! 
But  as  all  earthly  things,  however  sweet  and 
beautiful,  must  fade  and  die,  a  frost,  "  a  killing 
frost,"  came  early  in  the  autumn,  and  the  shriv- 
elled leaves  could  no  longer  conceal  the  rude 
framework.  Medad,  fruitful  in  expedients,  cut 
down  branches  of  evergreen,  with  which  he 
covered  it,  but  soon  the  snow  came  and  blocked 
it  up  and  the  poor  bower  was  deserted.  But  then 
there  were  winter  amusements.  There  was  a 
large  pond  frozen  over,  and  Medad  was  a  fine 
skater.  And  his  sled  was  arranged  so  that  the 
two  girls  could  sit  upon  it.  Warmly  wrapped 
in  their  cloaks,  he  drew  them  swiftly  over  the 
smooth  surface.     And,  when  summer  fruits  were 


PARTING   TOKENS.  65 

gone,  there  were  still  plenty  of  nuts  and  apples 
for  Zephina. 

After  the  visit  of  Mrs.  Whately,  Mrs.  Fan- 
shaw  was  quite  reconciled  to  Zephina's  intimacy 
with  Beulah,  and  gave  her  every  facility  for  cul- 
tivating it,  though  she  never  repeated  the  law  that 
forbade  her  daughter  to  go  into  the  farm-house. 
She  was  herself  occupied  continually  with  her 
worsted-work,  and  silk  patchwork.  Day  after 
day  she  bent  over  the  embroidery-frame,  bringing 
out,  by  slow  degrees,  "  Sir  Walter  Scott  and  his 
Family,"  as  a  mate  to  "  The  Interior  of  a  Dutch 
Inn,"  for  a  pair  of  ottomans. 

Winter  passed  rapidly  away,  and  spring  once 
more  smiled  upon  the  reviving  earth.  The  bower 
had  been  nicely  cleared  out  and  put  in  order, 
and  warning  given  to  Zephina  that  the  post- 
office  was  again  opened.  Zephina  appeared 
there  soon  after,  at  a  very  early  hour  in  the 
morning.  She  sat  down  upon  the  rude  bench, 
and,  leaning  an  elbow  on  her  knees  covered  her 
face  with  one  hand ;  in  the  other  was  the  little 
basket  that  had  so  often  been  filled  with  gifts 
from  her  beloved  friend. 

The  large  tears  trickled  through  her  fingers 
and  fell  upon  it.     After  a  short  time  spent  thus, 


66  PARTING    TOKENS. 

she  rose,  and,  placing  it  upon  the  bench,  said, 
"  Dear  little  basket !  shall  I  never  see  you  again  ? 
Would  that  I  could  fill  you  with  gold,  —  but  that 
would  be  a  poor  return  for  my  sweet  Beulah's 
kindness."  Then,  giving  one  more  longing,  lin- 
gering look  at  the  bower,  and  at  the  dear  old  oak, 
she  walked  rapidly  away. 

Beulah  soon  arrived  there,  and,  seeing  Zephi- 
na  in  the  distance,  called  her,  but  she  was  beyond 
the  reach  of  her  voice.  She  took  up  the  basket ;  it 
was  full.  A  letter  was  upon  the  top  of  it;  it 
was  as  follows :  — 

"  I  cannot  but  hope  that  I  shall  meet  my  dear- 
est friend  to-morrow  morning,  —  yet  I  may  not ; 
and  then,  —  how  shall  I  write  it  ?  —  and  then, 
we  may  never  meet  again. 

u  Mamma  has  decided  to  go  immediately  to  the 
city,  to  l  finish  my  education.'  Poor,  dear  mam- 
ma, she  is  not  very  well,  and  I  have  not  said  a 
word  in  opposition  to  it,  though  I  am  sure  it  is 
not  in  my  nature  to  be  such  a  lady  as  she  wishes 
me  to  be.  *  I  go  for  comfort,'  as  the  dear,  dear 
Squire  says.  In  the  basket  you  will  find  a  worsted 
comforter  that  I  have  knitted  for  him ;  when  he 
wears  it,  next  winter,  may  it  remind  him  of  the 


PARTING    TOKENS.  67 

little  girl  to  whom  he  was  so  kind.  The  work- 
bag  is  for  your  mother ;  give  it  to  her,  with  my 
sincere  regards.  The  pen-wiper  is  for  Mr.  Aza- 
riah ;  I  am  not  certain,  however,  that  he  writes 
much.  The  watch-case  is  for  Mr.  Medad.  The 
flower  upon  it  is  a  forget-me-not;  —  do  not  tell 
him,  however,  for  I  do  n't  believe  he  would  know 
but  what  it  is  a  turnip-blossom,  for  I  embroidered 
it  without  any  pattern.  For  you,  my  sweet  Beu- 
lah,  I  have  nothing  but  a  heart  full  of  love,  and 
that  poor  little  book-mark,  done  with  my  own 
hair;  if  you  could  see  to  the  bottom  of  that 
heart,  you  would  find  ■  Gratitude '  as  plainly 
there  as  it  is  upon  the  mark.  Put  it  in  your 
Bible,  that  very  Bible  I  have  so  often  seen  you 
carry  to  Sunday  School,  that  you  may  be  in  the 
most  solemn  manner  reminded  of  the  enduring 
affection  of 

"  Zephina." 


CHAPTER  X. 


A  GENTLE  REPROOF. 


Beulah  was  sad  and  lonely  for  some  time  after 
the  departure  of  her  friend.  But  she  was  a  busy- 
little  body,  and  constant  occupation  soon  brought 
back  her  cheerfulness.  She  received  a  box  of 
books  and  a  new  bonnet  and  dress  from  Mrs. 
Whately,  which  the  Squire  said  he  was  mightily 
afraid  would  turn  her  head.  But  she  kept  it  as 
steadily  when  at  church  as  ever,  and  every 
Sunday  went  for  a  poor  blind  woman,  as  usual, 
whom  she  led  carefully  to  her  seat  near  the  pul- 
pit, and,  as  soon  as  church  was  over,  led  her 
home  again.  She  soon  wrote  to  her  kind  friend 
the  following  letter. 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Whately  :  — 

"  I  thank  you  a  thousand  times  for  your  kind 


A   GENTLE   REPROOF.  t)9 

letter  and  acceptable  presents.  The  books  I  am 
reading  with  pleasure.  I  like  Miss  Edgeworth's 
stories  very  much  indeed.  The  last  that  I  read 
was  Mademoiselle  Panache.  I  suppose  Lady  Car- 
oline was  of  the  kind  of  fine  ladies  that  my  dear 
Zephina  dislikes  so  much.  They  have  gone  from 
Baxter,  —  Mrs.  Fanshaw  and  her  daughter,  —  and 
I  do  not  even  know  where  they  are  now  living. 
I  suppose  it  was  forbidden  to  Zephina  to  tell  me 
the  place  of  their  residence.  Instead  of  her 
pleasant  society  I  am  sometimes  troubled  with 
the  visits  of  a  young  man  who  is  studying  medi- 
cine in  our  village.  He  is  known  by  every  per- 
son here  as  '  the  Doctor's  young  man.' 

"  Now  this  Dr.  Weasenby  has  taken  it  into  his 
head  to  pay  us  a  weekly  visit.  He  is  queer 
looking,  —  very.  His  hair  is  light  and  long,  and 
in  front  it  stands  up  straight  and  stiff;  —  he  must 
use  quantities  of  pomatum.  His  large,  light- 
grey  eyes  seem  to  stare  at  you,  and  yet  he  never 
looks  directly  in  the  face  of  any  one.  Then  he 
holds  his  head  so  stiffly  on  his  long  neck,  which 
collars  and  cravats  can't  cover.  But,  to  crown 
the  whole,  this  awkward  gawky  thinks  himself 
so  handsome  and  so  polite,  —  he  is  such  a  con- 
ceited fellow,  —  that  I  am  troubled  to  know  how  to 


70  A   GENTLE    REPROOF. 

treat  him  civilly.  What  shall  I  do,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Whately  ?  He  comes  every  Thursday  night, 
when  mother  has  gone  to  the  sewing-circle,  and 
father  has  just  received  the  Weekly  Advertiser. 
Medad  goes  to  wait  upon  some  of  the  girls  home, 
and  I  have  my  suspicions  that  Azariah  goes  a 
courting, 

"  Dr.  Weasenby  says,  '  Miss  Morris,'  (for  he 
seems  to  take  me  for  a  young  lady,  instead  of  a 
little  girl  only  fourteen,)  Miss  Morris,  did  you 
ever  read  the  Life  of  Benjamin  Franklin  ? ' 
4  Yes,  Sir,  I  have  read  a  Life  of  Dr.  Franklin.' 
4  Well,  it 's  a  fine  book,  now,  is  n't  it  ?  Did  you 
ever  read  Lord  Byron  ?  '  '  Never.'  '  Well,  now, 
it  's  a  pity ;  —  Lord  Byron  's  a  pretty  book ; 
there  's  some  nice  females  in  it  that  I  should 
like  to  talk  to  you  about.  In  the  Corsair  and  the 
Bride  of  'Bydos,  them  must  have  been  uncom- 
mon handsome  females. 

"  Then  comes  a  long  pause,  —  Father  keeps  on 
reading  his  paper,  —the  Doctor  smooths  up  his 
hair  in  front  and  down  behind,  —  I  am  very  much 
engaged  with  my  knitting.  And  thus  he  comes, 
week  after  week.  The  only  change  in  his  conver- 
sation of  any  consequence  is,  '  Did  you  ever  read 
the  Life  of  Washington  ? '  or,  '  Did  you  ever  read 


A   GENTLE    liEPROOF.  71 

Josephus  ?  It  would  be  a  grand  book  if  it  was  n't 
so  dreadful  long  that  no  man  alive  ever  did  get 
through  it.' 

"  How  shall  I  treat  him  ?  How  can  I  be  polite 
to  such  an  awkward,  stupid  man?  Please  tell 
me,  my  dear  friend,  and  much  oblige  your  grate- 
ful and  attached 

"  Beulah." 

The  following  reply  was  soon  received. 

"  My  dear  young  Friend  :  — 

"  I  fear  in  your  last  letter  you  indulged  your- 
self a  little  in  drawing  a  caricature.  The  poor, 
awkward  young  man  seems  quite  harmless  and 
inoffensive.  Be  kindly  considerate  towards  him, 
if  he  is  only  homely  and  awkward.  Think  how 
much  better  this  is,  than  if  he  were  immoral  or 
vicious.  To  be  sure,  it  is  sometimes  difficult  to 
refrain  from  laughter  when  things  are  really 
ridiculous,  but  as  long  as  they  are  only  ludicrous, 
in  the  manner  you  have  mentioned,  arising  doubt- 
less from  the  want  of  education  and  association 
with  well-bred  people,  we  ought  to  endure  them 
with  perfect  good-nature. 

"  Be  civil  to  the  young  man,  Beulah,  because 
your  own   self-respect  demands  it;    be  civil   to 


72  A   GENTLE    REPROOF. 

every  one,  even  to  the  lowest  person  whom  you 
meet.  Besides,  you  might  yourself  fall  into  the 
society  of  people  accustomed  to  elegant  manners, 
who  would  see  some  things  in  you,  that,  if  so 
disposed,  they  might  ridicule.  I  have  often  seen 
clusters  of  young  ladies  in  a  party,  making  sport 
of  every  body.  No  person,  however  good  or 
dignified,  could  escape.  Any  little  peculiarity 
of  dress,  gait,  or  expression,  they  would  seize 
upon,  and  show  it  up  in  the  most  ludicrous  man- 
ner. I  have  sometimes  said,  in  passing  such  a 
lively  group,  '  Well,  girls,  who  now  are  you 
dissecting  ?     I  fear  I  shall  be  your  next  victim.' 

"I  know,  my  dear  Beulah,  the  kindness  of  your 
heart,  and  do  not  believe  you  would  ever  thus 
amuse  yourself  in  society.  Those  who  are  guilty 
would  say  it  is  only  thoughtlessness,  —  but  I 
think  there  is  some  maliciousness  in  it,  too. 

"Another  habit  that  girls  fall  into  is  that  of 
giggling  continually.  They  cannot  speak  with- 
out a  titter  or  a  giggle.  This  not  only  looks  very 
silly,  but  it  destroys  the  quiet  self-possession  that 
becomes  a  young  lady. 

"  Some  girls,  too,  bite  their  handkerchiefs  or 
gloves,  or  worse  yet,  their  nails;  this  last  is 
an  odious  habit.     They  ought  to  learn  to  keep 


A   GENTLE    REPROOF.  73 

their  hands  laid  gently  and  easily  together  when 
they  are  sitting;  in  this  way  they  will  in  time 
acquire  a  lady-like  repose,  essential  to  female 
dignity. 

"Do  not  grow  weary,  my  Beulah,  with  your 
friend,  because  she  thus  tells  you  freely  how  to 
cultivate  good  manners.  I  know  that  you  have 
the  requisite  foundation,  and  all  in  good  time  the 
superstructure  will  be  reared.  You  will,  in  short, 
become  all  that  my  most  sanguine  wishes  could 
desire.     God  bless  you,  dearest. 

"  Your  true  friend, 

1  Laura  Whvtely.  ' 


CHAPTER  XL 


AN  UNEXPECTED  INVITATION. 

Beulah  had  grown  in  beauty  and  in  graceful- 
ness from  year  to  year.  The  native  sweetness 
of  her  disposition  had  not  been  embittered  by 
unkindness ;  neither  had  her  self-respect  been 
decreased  by  comparing  herself  with  those  above 
her  in  rank  and  fortune.  Was  not  Squire  Morris 
a  justice  of  the  peace,  a  substantial  farmer,  a 
man  of  consequence  in  the  town  of  Baxter? 
She  had  never  experienced  an  emotion  of  self- 
degradation,  nor  wished  to  degrade  others.  Why 
should  she  ? 

At  fourteen,  her  slender  figure  alarmed  her 
mother,  lest  she  should  have  a  feeble  constitution, 
yet  the  fine  air  of  the  country  and  active  exer- 
cise gave  her  complexion  a  rosy  hue,  without 
injuring  its  delicacy,  and  the  vigor  and  elasticity 


AN    UNEXPECTED    INVITATION.  75 

of  her  movements  proved  that  she  was  in  per- 
fect health. 

In  the  autumn,  the  Squire  received  a  long  let- 
ter from  Mrs.  Whately,  mentioning  various  rea- 
sons why  she  wished  Beulah  to  come  and  pass 
a  year  with  her.  These  reasons  did  not  trans- 
pire, for  the  careful  man,  having  the  old-fashioned 
notion,  that  a  woman  cannot  keep  a  secret,  did 
not  read  the  letter  even  to  Mrs.  Morris. 

It  was  exceedingly  trying  to  the  whole  family 
to  part  with  the  lamb  of  the  flock.  Beulah  her- 
self was  at  first  unwilling  to  leave  home.  Where 
else  could  she  be  so  happy  ?  And  how  could 
mother  do  without  her  ? 

But  then  Mrs.  Whately  was  so  kind,  —  so  very 
kind,  — ■  and  she  was  lonely,  too,  and  a  comfort  she 
might  be  to  her,  —  and  there  were  a  great  many 
things  in  the  world  that  she  would  like  to  see 
and  hear,  —  and,  with  the  hopefulness  and  vivacity 
of  youth,  she  looked  forward  to  the  time  when  she 
should  return  and  tell  so  many  things  to  the  loved 
ones  at  home. 

Three  whole  days  were  spent  by  Mrs.  Morris 
and  Beulah  in  preparations  for  the  city,  and  her 
simple  wardrobe  was  considered  in  complete 
order. 


76  AN   UNEXPECTED    INVITATION. 

How  it  would  have  amused  a  girl  of  her  age, 
accustomed  to  think  of  dress  as  the  most  important 
thing  in  the  world,  to  see  the  simple  attire  with 
which  Beulah  Morris  felt  perfectly  satisfied. 

Beulah  took  an  affectionate  leave  of  every 
body  in  the  village,  for  she  knew  every  man, 
woman,  and  child,  and  was  a  favorite  with  all. 
She  lingered  long  at  the  beloved  bower,  which 
with  girlish  fondness  she  still  kept  in  order  for 
the  sake  of  Zephina. 

"  Medad,"  said  the  Squire,  "  you  must  go 
with  Beulah,  and  take  good  care  of  her,  and  you 
may  spend  two  or  three  days  in  Boston  and  see 
what 's  to  be  seen." 

"  I  am  delighted,  perfectly  delighted,  with  the 
chance,"  said  Medad,  —  and  he  whispered  some- 
thing in  the  ear  of  Beulah.  "  But  shall  we  go  in 
our  waggon  ?  "  continued  he 

"No,  no;  take  to  stages  and  railroads,  and 
start  to-morrow,"  replied  Squire  Morris.  "  And, 
Beulah,  although  cousin  Whately  is  very  kind 
to  you,  I  do  n't  want  you  to  feel  at  all  depend- 
ent upon  her,  for  I  'm  too  thankful  to  say 
that  I  am  well  to  do  in  the  world  and  need  n't 
ask  favors  of  any  one.  You  go  to  do  her  a 
favor  by  staying  and  keeping  her  company  in 


AN    UNEXPECTED    INVITATION.  77 

her  lonely  house.  And  here  is  one  hundred 
dollars  for  your  spending  money.  That  will 
keep  you  as  well  dressed  for  the  year  as  a 
farmer's  daughter  ought  to  be  ;  for  I  do  n't  want 
to  have  you  get  any  grand  notions  in  your  head, 
and  come  home  to  despise  your  father  and  moth- 
er, because  they  do  n't  care  for  show  and  only 
go  for  comfort.  Be  friendly  with  every  one,  but 
by  no  means  too  familiar.  Remember  the  old 
proverb,  —  Familiarity  breeds  contempt." 

The  tears  were  in  Beulah's  mild  eyes. 

"  O,  do  n  't  cry  my  child,  I  know  you  '11  be  a 
good,  sensible  Yankee  girl,  and  not  be  carried 
away  by  all  the  novelties  you  chance  to  meet. 
Your  grandmother  was  a  good  woman,  not  to  say 
any  thing  of  your  mother,  because  praise  to  the 
face  is  open  disgrace  ;  at  any  rate,  you  come  of  a 
good  stock,  and  you  must  keep  up  its  character." 


CHAPTER  XII. 


THE  JOURNEY. 

Early  in  the  morning,  the  stagecoach,  with  its 
nine  inside  passengers  and  three  outsides,  was 
on  the  route  to  Boston.  For  several  miles  Beu- 
lah  did  not  lower  her  handkerchief  from  her 
eyes,  excepting  once,  and  that  was  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  their  own  dear  village  from  the  last 
high  hill.  Home !  home !  and  the  kind  warm 
hearts  there,  what  in  the  wide  world  could  atone 
for  their  loss. 

"  Come,  cheer  up,  Beulah,"  said  Medad  ;  "  our 
folks,  though  they  did  feel  sadly,  will  be  chirk 
again  soon.  And  there  are  a  great  many  pleasant 
things  to  be  seen  on  the  way." 

Medad's  kind  intentions  towards  his  sister 
were  aided  by  a  sudden  jolt,  which  sent  a  gentle- 
man's hat  directly  into  her  face. 


THE   JOURNEY.  79 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss,"  said  the  owner  of 
the  hat,  a  young  gentleman  who  sat  directly  op- 
posite to  Beulah. 

"  Not  at  all,  Sir,"  the  words  were,  of  course, 
but  the  tone  of  voice  made  the  stranger  desire 
to  hear  it  again.  But  there  was  something  in 
the  air  and  manner  of  the  simply  dressed  coun- 
try-girl before  him,  that  prevented  him  from 
addressing  her.  Several  times  he  was  upon  the 
point  of  doing  so,  but  he  could  not.  At  length 
he  turned  to  Medad,  and  said,  "  A  very  fine 
country  this.  It  is  better,  however,  for  grazing 
than  for  grain,  I  should  think." 

"  Perfectly  correct,  Sir,"  replied  Medad  ;  "  it 's 
a  fine  grass  country ;  they  say  it 's  much  better 
land,  though,  in  that  famous  valley  of  the  Con- 
necticut." 

"  The  valley  of  the  Connecticut  is  very  beauti- 
ful ;  —  its  banks  are  quite  a  contrast  to  the  bold 
banks  of  the  Hudson.  Have  you  ever  been  up 
the  Hudson  ?  " 

"  Never,  Sir,"  said  Medad ;  "  never  was 
twenty  miles  from  Baxter  in  my  life." 

The  stranger  looked  a  little  surprised  at  this 
frank  avowal,  but  Medad  was  utterly  unconscious 
of  having  said  any  thing  remarkable.     He  did 


80  THE   JOURNEY. 

not  consider  it  in  the  slightest  degree  disgrace- 
ful not  to  have  travelled.     Why  should  he  ? 

Next  to  Beulah,  on  the  middle  seat,  was  a 
coarse-looking  woman,  who  seemed  disposed  to 
be  incommoded,  for  the  slightest  cause  was  made 
a  matter  of  petulant  complaint.  The  back-strap 
wanted  fixing,  —  somebody's  feet  were  in  her  way, 
—  at  last  she  began  to  be  sick  with  riding.  Beulah 
politely  offered  her  the  seat  by  the  window,  which 
she  accepted.  Then  she  opened  her  travelling- 
wallet,  and  handed  the  woman  a  bottle  of  cam- 
phor, and  some  peppermint  lozenges,  with  which 
her  careful  mother  had  provided  her.  The  wo- 
man accepted  them,  without  a  word  of  thanks. 

They  had  not  gone  more  than  twenty  miles, 
before  a  disaster  occurred.  They  were  about 
passing  a  small  bridge.  The  horses  went  safe- 
ly over,  but  the  heavily-laden  coach  was  upon 
the  bridge  when  one  side  of  it  gave  away,  and 
the  coach  was  upset.  Fortunately  the  bridge 
was  low,  and  over  a  shallow  stream.  The  out- 
side passengers  were  precipitated  into  the  water. 
The  driver  sprang  from  his  seat  to  the  ground, 
and  kept  hold  of  the  reins. 

Inside  were  dire  confusion  and  intense  alarm. 
The    petulant   woman  screamed,   and  struggled, 


THE    JOURNEY.  81 

and  kicked,  endangering  the  life  and  limbs  of 
her  neighbours  more  than  the  fall  had  done.  As 
soon  as  possible,  the  driver  cut  the  traces,  and, 
securing  the  horses  by  the  road-side,  came 
to  the  assistance  of  the  passengers.  The  out- 
sides  by  this  time  had  discovered  that  they 
were  still  alive  and  not  much  injured,  and  aided 
the  driver  in  relieving  the  other  passengers  from 
the  "  durance  vile "  in  which  they  were  still 
kept  within  the  coach. 

Medad  was  the  first  to  make  his  way  out. 
The  young  gentleman  followed.  "Now  help 
Beulah,"  said  the  former. 

"  No,"  said  her  sweet  voice  within ;  "  help  this 
poor  woman,  who  has  been  very  much  injured. 
Let  me  assist  you  to  rise." 

By  this  time  all  were  out  excepting  these  two, 
—  and  it  seemed  impossible  to  do  any  thing  with 
the  woman,  who  had  entirely  lost  all  command 
of  herself.  "  O,  my  arm !  O,  my  arm !  The 
weight  of  the  whole  load  came  right  on  me," 
she  screamed. 

With  the  aid  of  Beulah  within,  and  the  pas- 
sengers without,  she  was'  at  length  dragged  out 
of  the  coach  and  placed  upon  terra-firma. 

Beulah    could    have   escaped    uninjured    only 


82  THE    JOURNEY. 

by  being  on  the  middle  seat ;  she  was  thus  thrown 
upon  her  unfortunate  neighbour.  The  poor  wo- 
man was  shivering  with  cold  from  her  wet  cloth- 
ing. Beulah  took  off  her  own  shawl  and  wrapped 
it  about  her,  for  her  arm  was  dreadfully  bruised 
and  broken.  No  sooner  had  she  done  so,  than  a 
short  broadcloth  cloak  was  thrown  around  her 
own  shoulders  by  the  young  gentleman. 

"  Where  do  you  belong,  my  good  woman  ?  " 
said  Medad. 

"  About  five  miles  from  here,"  she  replied ; 
"  but  I  shall  never  live  to  get  there." 

"  O,  yes,  you  will,  for  the  driver  has  sent  a 
man  on  horseback  for  another  coach,  and  it 's 
only  a  mile.  Is  n't  it  lucky  that  we  were  only 
one  mile  from  the  place  where  they  change  hors- 
es ?  —  and  they  have  an  extra  stage  there.  And 
soon  you  '11  be  home,  and  the  doctor  will  set  your 
arm  in  less  than  no  time.  It  will  be  as  strong 
as  ever  it  was  in  a  month." 

"  O,  I  never  shall  have  the  use  of  it  again," 
she  said ;  "  I  am  always  worse  off  than  any  body 
in  the  world." 

The  young  gentleman  had  succeeded  in  getting 
into  the  coach,  and  had  brought  out  some  cush- 
ions  and    Beulah's    wallet.      She   took    off   the 


THE    JOURNEY.  83 

poor  woman's  bonnet,  wiped  off  the  water,  bent 
it  into  shape,  and  put  it  again  upon  her  head, 
quite  forgetful  of  her  own,  until  Medad  said, 
"You  look  funny  enough,  Beulah,  with  your 
own  bonnet  knocked  into  a  cocked  hat,  and  that 
military  cloak  to  correspond." 

All  the  passengers  who  were  not  disabled  went  to 
work  to  place  the  luggage  upon  the  shore,  ready 
for  the  coach.  They  had  just  got  it  all  there 
when  it  arrived,  and  soon  they  were  surprised  to 
find  themselves  again  on  their  way  with  so  little 
injury.  Bruises  and  scratches  there  were  in 
abundance,  but  no  limbs  broken  but  the  woman's 
arm.  They  all  agreed  to  go  on  immediately  to  the 
place  where  she  belonged,  instead  of  stopping 
at  the  next  inn  to  make  themselves  more  com- 
fortable, for  she  seemed  in  great  pain  and  dis- 
tress. Beulah  wished  to  support  her  head  upon 
her  shoulder,  but  the  young  gentleman  insisted 
upon  relieving  her  from  the  burden. 

In  less  than  an  hour  the  coach  stopped  at  the 
inn.  Medad  and  the  stranger,  finding  that  it  was 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  main  road  to  the  wo- 
man's home,  took  a  waggon  and  carried  her  there. 
So  much  delay  had  been  occasioned,  that  they 
all  concluded  that  it  was  best  to  remain  there 
for  the  night. 


84  THE    JOURNEY. 

The  shawl  was  safely  returned  to  Beulah  by 
the  young  gentleman,  who,  with  some  hesitation, 
delivered  the  message.  As,  however,  it  showed 
some  gratitude,  though  expressed  in  her  own 
coarse  manner,  he  thought  it  his  duty  to  do  so. 

"  She  said  to  me,  '  Tell  that  girl  who  lent  me 
the  shawl  that  she  deserves  the  best  husband  in 
the  world,  and  I  hope  when  she  's  old  enough 
she  '11  find  him.'  " 

Beulah  blushed,  and  said,  in  a  very  low  tone,  "  I 
am  much  obliged  to  her." 

The  next  day's  journey  was  without  accident. 
And  then,  by  railroad,  they  came  to  their  place 
of  destination. 

"  Look  out,  Beulah, — there  is  Bunker  Hill  Mon- 
ument," said  Medad  ;  "  so  our  friend  says.  Does 
n't  it  make  one's  blood  start  through  the  veins  to 
see  it.  And  old  Boston,  too.  the  Cradle  of  Ameri- 
can Liberty." 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


CITY  ACQUAINTANCES. 

Mrs.  Whately  was  expecting  her  young  friends 
and  received  them  with  the  greatest  cordiality. 
Her  house  was  large,  and  situated  in  one  of  the 
finest  streets  in  Boston.  Medad  looked  at  the 
various  articles  of  rich  furniture  with  wondering 
eyes.  The  first  opportunity  that  Beulah  had  to 
see  him  alone  was  after  dinner.  She  begged  him 
not  to  gaze  about  quite  so  much,  and  by  no 
means  to  ask  any  questions. 

"  That  is  too  good,  Beulah,  advising  me  just  as 
if  you  had  always  lived  in  the  city,"  said  Medad, 
laughing.  "  And  I  should  have  thought  really 
you  had,  by  the  way  you  dipped  your  fingers 
into  those  colored  glasses  and  wiped  them  on  the 
napkin  ;  for  my  part,  I  could  n't  think  what  they 
were  for,  and  should  just  as  likely  have  taken  a 


Ob  CITY   ACQUAINTANCES. 

drink,  if  I  had  n't  see  you  go  through  with  the 
operation.  And  then,  that  fork  with  four  prongs 
bothered  me,  —  but  you  handled  it  as  if  you 
never  had  used  any  thing  but  a  silver  fork  in 
your  life." 

"  It  only  needs  a  little  observation  to  be  able 
to  change  in  these  small  things  from  what  we 
have  been  accustomed  to  at  home,"  said  Beulah. 
"  What  beautiful  pictures  these  are." 

"  Yes ;  they  are,  and  this  is  a  fine  house,  but 
our  folks  could  buy  house  and  all,  if  they  wanted 
it,"  replied  Medad,  walking  to  and  fro  in  the 
splendid  apartment,  without  the  least  conscious- 
ness of  inferiority,  because  he  had  not  always 
trodden  upon  a  Wilton  carpet.  Medad  was  one 
who 

"  Would  shake  hands  with  a  king  upon  his  throne, 
And  think  it  kindness  to  his  Majesty." 

The  next  day,  Mrs.  Whately,  not  being  well, 
was  unable  to  go  out  with  Medad  and  Beulah. 
She  gave  them  very  particular  directions  that 
they  need  not  loose  their  way  amid  the  intri- 
cacies of  Boston,  a  perfect  labyrinth  to  strangers, 
and  they  started  for  a  stroll  in  Washington  Street. 

Medad,  entirely  satisfied  with  his  suit  of  butter- 
nut-brown, made   by  the  country  tailor,  walked 


CITY   ACQUAINTANCES.  87 

leisurely  along,  looking  in  at  the  shop  windows. 
At  length  he  stopped  before  one,  saying,  "What 
beautiful  trinkets,  and  splendid  watches  !  Come, 
Beulah,  let  us  go  in  here." 

"  If  you  wish  to  make  a  purchase,  I  will  go  in 
with  you,  but  not  otherwise,"  replied  Beulah. 

But  Medad,  without  replying,  was  already  within. 
He  inquired  the  price  of  their  watches,  and  the 
man  carelessly  answered,  "  Some  are  two  hun- 
dred and  some  three  hundred." 

"  Well,  Sir,  but  have  n't  you  any  for  less  than 
that.  I  want  a  good  time-piece,  —  a  plain, 
good  one,  suitable  for  a  farmer,"  said  Medad. 
"  There  's  one,  now,  what 's  the  price  of  that?  " 

"  Fifty  dollars." 

Medad  looked  at  it  awhile,  and  then  whis- 
pered to  his  sister,  "  Do  you  think  that  would  fit 
the  watch-case  ? " 

"I  should  think  it  would,  exactly,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"  Then  that 's  the  watch  for  me.  I  '11  take  it, 
Sir,  if  you  '11  put  a  key  to  it."  And  he  handed 
out  fifty  dollars.  He  had  been  laying  it  by  for 
some  time,  to  be  able  to  fill  the  beloved  watch- 
case. 

They  then  sauntered  along,  Medad  making  his 


88  CITY    ACQUAINTANCES. 

remarks  upon   all  whom  they  met  in  an  under 
tone  to  Beulah. 

"  There,  now,  what  do  you  call  that  walk,  —  that 
girl  coming  towards  us  with  the  yellow  bonnet 
and  red  feather  flying  off  half  a  yard,  and  all 
those  curls.  I  should  call  it  the  diddlecum-twiddle. 
Did  you  ever  see  such  a  jerking  and  twitching  to 
make  progress  forward  ?  " 

Beulah  looked  at  the  girl  with  the  long,  light 
curls  hanging  down  each  side  to  her  waist,  and 
as  she  did  so  they  were  quite  near  her.  Medad 
began  bowing  and  smiling.  The  girl  raised  her 
eye-glass,  and,  looking  at  him  through  it,  said 
to  her  companion,  in  the  most  affected  tone, 
"  What  microscopic  insect  is  that  ?  I  am  cer- 
tain T  never  saw  it  before." 

"  Miss  Harriet  Ann  Gunn,  I  believe,"  said 
Medad,  perfectly  undaunted.  "  Can  you  tell  me 
what  has  become  of  Miss  Zephina  Fanshaw  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  any  such  person,"  said  the 
girl,  hurrying  on  with  all  her  might. 

"  You  must  be  mistaken,"  said  Beulah. 
"  That  could  not  be  Harriet  Ann." 

"  Mistaken !  I  should  know  her  among  ten 
thousand.  How  provoking  that  she  should  tell 
such  a  falsehood  !    Fine  feathers,  it  seems,  do  n't 


CITY   ACQUAINTANCES.  89 

always  make  fine  birds.  Keep  a  look  out,  —  we 
may  meet  Zephina.  Do  you  suppose  she,  too, 
would  n't  know  us  ?  " 

"  I  do  n't  know,  indeed,  for  I  am  told  that 
people  here  often  forget  those  they  have  known 
in  the  country,  —  but  I  do  not  believe  Zephina 
would  ever  forget  old  friends." 

When  Beulah  related  this  little  adventure 
to  Mrs.  Whately,  the  good  lady  was  quite 
amused  to  find  that  her  young  friends  had  never 
heard  of  "  cutting  an  acquaintance."  She  told 
them  it  was  a  vulgar  practice  that  some  per- 
sons had  who  must  be  very  doubtful  of  their  own 
respectability,  since  it  depended  entirely  upon  that 
of  their  acquaintances. 

"  You  may  rely  upon  it,"  said  she,  "  that  no 
one  cuts  an  acquaintance,  who  is  perfectly  con- 
tented with  her  position  in  the  world.  She  has 
no  reason  to  do  so,  for  if  the  person  she  chances 
to  meet  is  above  her,  she  bows  with  respect,  and 
without  envy ;  if  below,  still  with  politeness,  and 
without  a  condescending,  patronizing  air.  It  is 
therefore  more  than  probable  that  this  girl  would 
not  be  a  suitable  acquaintance  for  us." 

After  passing  a  few  days  in  Boston,  and  seeing 
much  that  was  worthy  of  a  stranger's  notice,  Me- 


90  CITY   ACQUAINTANCES. 

dad  was  anxious  to  know  how  the  watch  would 
fit  the  case,  and,  telling  Beulah,  "  Our  folks  will 
be  anxious  to  hear  from  us  by  this  time,"  he  bade 
her  an  affectionate  farewell,  charging  her  to  keep 
a  bright  look-out  for  Zephina. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 


SHOPPING. 

Mrs.  Whately  took  Beulah  out  to  make  some 
needful  purchases.  No  sooner  did  they  enter 
a  shop  than  the  clerks  were  all  politeness  and 
attention.  It  was  not  altogether  because  that 
lady  came  in  her  own  carriage,  but  because  there 
was  in  her  mode  of  shopping  something  so  agree- 
able that  every  one  was  pleased  to  wait  upon  her. 
She  knew  before  she  left  home  just  what  she 
wanted,  and  about  what  would  be  a  reasonable 
price,  and  therefore  never  stood  cheapening  for 
hours  the  articles  she  intended  to  purchase. 

She  consulted  Beulah's  taste,  for,  like  most  girls, 
she  had  a  taste  of  her  own,  and  found  that  she 
invariably  preferred  the  least  glaring  colors  and 
the  most  simple  style.  As  this  entirely  agreed 
with  her  own  taste,  it  was  not  difficult  to  make  a 
9 


92  SHOPPING. 

selection.  After  their  return  home,  Mrs.  Whately 
handed  Beulah  a  little  memorandum-book,  saying, 
"  It  will  be  well  for  you  to  keep  an  account  of 
fyour  expenditures  while  absent  from  home.  I 
have  arranged  it  for  you.  You  will  find,  among 
other  things,  a  place  to  put  down  the  pieces  thai 
you  give  to  the  chamber-maid  for  the  washer- 
woman. Although  I  believe  all  my  domestics 
to  be  honest,  it  is  right  that  you  should  know  cer- 
tainly that  every  piece  is  returned.  Habits  of 
order  and  economy  are  important  to  every  woman, 
rich  or  poor.  In  our  country,  especially,  she  who 
is  rich  to-day  may  be  poor  to-morrow ;  —  and, 
besides,  wealth  should  be  expended  conscientious- 
ly and  with  good  taste." 

"But,"  said  Beulah,  "I  think  those  young 
ladies  we  met  shopping  to-day  could  not  be  very 
economical,  for  they  wanted  to  purchase  the 
greatest  quantities  of  things,  —  lace,  shawls,  silks, 
velvets,  every  thing.  The  counters  were  heaped 
up  with  the  various  articles.  And  yet,"  said  she, 
"  they  did  try  to  be  economical,  for  they  asked 
again  and  again  if  that  was  the  lowest  price  they 
could  possibly  take." 

"  They  were  probably  only  shopping  for  amuse- 
ment. Many  of  them  went  home  without  pur- 
chasing a  single  article,"  said  Mrs.  Whately. 


SHOPPING.  93 

"  How  provoking  it  must  be  to  the  merchants," 
said  Beulah.  "  I  can't  imagine  what  pleasure 
the  young  ladies  take  in  such  a  strange  amuse- 
ment." 

"  I  hope  you  never  will  know  from  experi- 
ence," was  the  reply. 

Beulah  wrote  in  her  little  memorandum-book, 
with  the  greatest  possible  neatness,  as  follows :  — 

Received  from  my  father,  Oct.  15th,  $  100.00. 

Expended : — 

Cloak 818.00 

Bonnet 6.00 

Gaiter-Boots  and  Shoes     .         .         .         .3.50 
Mousseline  de  Laine     ....         6.50 

Cravat 50 

Gloves 1.50 

Handkerchiefs 3.00 

Muff 6.00 

"  Forty-five  dollars  already  !  "  exclaimed  Beu- 
lah to  herself,  when  she  had  added  up  her  expen- 
ses ;  "  I  am  afraid,  at  this  rate,  my  hundred  will 
not  last  through  the  year." 


CHAPTER  XV. 


A  SURPRISE. 

After  Beulah  had  been  in  Boston  about  a 
month,  she  went  one  morning  with  Mrs.  Whately 
to  a  milliner's  in Street. 

While  Mrs.  Whately  was  engaged  making  some 
purchases  for  herself,  Beulah's  attention  was  ar- 
rested by  a  familiar  voice  that  she  heard  on  the 
other  side  of  the  shop.  She  turned  and  looked. 
It  was  the  voice  of  one  of  the  young  girls  of  the 
shop,  waiting  upon  a  customer.  She  looked  again, 
and,  approaching  the  girl,  exclaimed,  "  Zephina  ! " 

."  Beulah  Morris  !  "  was  the  reply,  and  a  warm 
embrace  followed. 

Mrs.  Whately  came  towards  them  looking  in- 
quiringly. *  It  is  Zephina,  my  own  dear  friend," 
said  Beulah.     "  Mrs.  Whately,  Zephina." 

"  Is  it    possible  ? "    exclaimed  Mrs.    Whately, 


A    SURPRISE.  95 

shaking  hands  most  cordially.  "  I  congratulate 
you  both  on  this  unexpected  meeting."  But  as 
this  was  not  a  suitable  place  for  explanation,  she 
asked  Zephina  to  come  and  see  Beulah  very  soon, 
and  gave  her  address. 

"  I  have  but  little  time,"  she  replied,  looking 
very  sorrowfully,  "  but  I  will  endeavour  to  come 
as  soon  as  possible." 

Mrs.  Whately  and  Beulah  then  left,  and,  all  the 
way  home,  they  were  forming  conjectures  how 
Zephina  had  happened  to  take  up  the  employ- 
ment in  which  they  found  her  engaged. 

As  they  stepped  out  of  the  shop  and  into  the 
carriage,  Harriet  Ann  happened  to  be  passing, 
and  saw  them. 

"  I  declare,  that  is  the  sister  of  the  horrid  wretch 
that  spoke  to  me  the  other  day  in  Washington 
Street,  and  she  is  with  Mrs.  Whately,  one  of  the 
very  fust  ladies  in  Boston." 

The  person  to  whom  she  spoke  was  the  same 
who  was  with  her  on  the  former  occasion.  "  It 
is  the  very  young  lady  who  was  with  him ; 
what  a  very  pretty  girl  she  is,"  she  replied. 

"  How  can  you  think  so  ?  She .  has  n't  a 
bit  of  an  air,  — and  so  plainly  dressed,  too, 
—  not   even   a   feather,  when    every  body   that 


96  A    SURPRISE. 

can  raises  one  of  some  kind  or  other.  She  's 
a  real  country- girl.  I  can't  think  how  she  hap- 
pens to  be  with  Mrs.  Whately.  Seems  to  me 
I  remember  she  got  her  living  in  the  country  by 
picking  berries,  or  some  such  thing,  but  I  am 
uncerting.  I  am  going  down  this  way,  and  must 
bid  you  good  morning." 

She  walked  a  little  way  down  the  street,  and 
then,  turning,  hastened  back  to  the  milliner's  shop. 
For  many  months,  Harriet  Ann  had  not  found 
it  convenient  to  recognize  Zephina,  and  when- 
ever she  passed  her  in  the  street,  it  was  amusing 
to  see  the  various  expedients  that  she  adopted 
for  turning  her  head  the  other  way.  Now  she 
ran  up  to  her,  saying,  in  a  condescending  man- 
ner, "How  d'  ye  do,  Zephina.  What  have 
you  got  altogether  allamode  and  recherchy  (Har- 
riet Ann  had  got  a  smattering  of  French,  which 
she  pronounced  horridly,  and  a  passion  for  large 
words). 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  Miss  Gunn,"  replied 
Zephina. 

"  O,  I  forgot,  your  present  occupation  is  an 
insuperable  preventative  to  your  studying  French. 
By  the  way,  I  thought  I  saw  this  morning,  that 
very    country-girl   that   I   once    or    twice    met, 


A    SURPRISE.  97 

when  1  spent  a  couple  of  months  at  that  horrid 
outlandish  place  in  the  country.  Her  name  is 
Betsey  or  Patty  Morris,  I  believe  ?  " 

"  Beulah  Morris.  She  is  passing  the  winter  with 
her  cousin,  Mrs.  Whately,"  coolly  replied  Zephina. 

"  Then  that  countrified  fellow  must  have  been 
her  brother,  who  had  the  impudence  to  address  me 
in  the  street,  and  inquire  after  you." 

"  Was  it  the  older  or  the  younger  brother  ?  " 
asked  Zephina,  slightly  blushing. 

"  I  am  sure  I  do  n't  know ;  it  was  a  tall,  awk- 
ward crichure,  and  I  was  scared  to  death  for 
fear  some  one  would  see  him  speak  to  me  in  the 
street." 

A  lady  now  came  and  asked  Zephina  to  step 
aside,  —  she  wished  to  ask  her  a  question.  Mrs. 
Markham  —  that  was  the  lady's  name  —  was  get- 
ing  up  a  set  of  tableaux,  and  wanted  some  one  for 
a  Rowena.  She  was  struck  with  the  long  flaxen 
curls  and  fair  complexion  of  Harriet  Ann,  as 
a  fine  contrast  for  her  dark-haired,  dark-eyed 
friend,  who  was  to  personate  Rebecca  the  Jewess. 
Zephina  told  her  that  Harriet  Ann  was  a  young 
lady  of  independent  fortune,  niece  to  Mr.  Prium, 
the  baker. 

"  A  very  respectable,  honest  man  ,  I  've  known 


98  A    SURPRISE. 

him  these  twenty  years,"  the  lady  said,  and  asked 
for  an  introduction  to  her. 

Harriet  Ann  was  delighted  beyond  expression 
at  this  invitation. 

As  the  tableaux  were  to  be  the  next  evening, 
Mrs.  Markham  offered  to  procure  a  dress  for 
Miss  Gunn.  But  no,  Miss  Gunn  chose  to  provide 
her  own  dress,  if  the  lady  would  tell  her  what 
it  should  be,  as  she  had  not  the  least  idea  who  or 
what  Rowena  was.  Mrs.  Markham  explained  it, 
recommending  that  she  should  leave  it  to  the 
good  taste  of  Miss  Fanshaw. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


A  FRIENDLY  VISIT. 

The  next  morning  Beulah  was  agreeably  sur- 
prised by  a  visit  from  Zephina.  The  greeting 
was  equally  cordial  on  both  sides. 

Zephina  told  Beulah,  that,  when  they  were  in 
Baxter,  her  mother  had  retired  into  the  country 
for  economy's  sake.  They  had  formerly  lived 
in  New  York.  Her  mother  had  been  a  widow 
since  she  herself  was  an  infant.  Their  fortune, 
which  had  once  been  considerable,  had  been  re- 
duced, yet  Mrs.  Fanshaw  determined  to  bring 
out  Zephina  as  an  accomplished  lady. 

On  her  return  to  New  York,  she  lost  nearly 
all  that  remained  of  her  fortune  by  the  failure  of 
a  bank.  Zephina  immediately  determined  to  offer 
herself  for  some  kind  of  employment,  but  her 
mother  insisted  that  it  should  not  be  in  New 
York,   the   scene   of  her   former   display.     She 


100  A    FRIENDLY    VISIT. 

therefore,  through  their  milliner,  procured  a  place 
in  Boston,  where  she  had  now  been  for  more  than 
a  year.  Not  long  after  their  arrrival,  Mrs.  Fan- 
shaw  was  seized  with  a  spine  complaint,  which  had 
confined  her  for  some  months  entirely  to  her  bed. 

"  Poor  mamma  !  she  did  every  thing  in  her  pow- 
er for  me,  yet  I  was  often  very  refractory,"  said 
Zephina.  "  She  is  now  so  kind  and  so  patient,  that 
it  grieves  me  to  think  of  it.  I  am  obliged  to  leave 
her  alone  a  great  deal.  I  hope,  Beulah,  you  will 
come   and   see   her   sometimes.    We   live    in   a 

room  —  yes,  one  room  —  in  a  house  No.  19 - 

Street." 

"  I  will  come  very  soon,"  said  Beulah  ;  "  biZi 
will  she  know  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  for  I  shall  tell  her  you  are  coming,  and 
we  have  no  acquaintances  here.  But  do  n't  tell 
her  if  you  please  where  you  are  staying.  Are 
you  taking  music  lessons,  Beulah  ?  " 

She  was ;  —  her  cousin  had  kindly  offered  to  in- 
struct her.  "  You  were  my  first  teacher  in  mu- 
sic," said  Beulah.  "  Do  you  remember  the  bower 
where  you  taught  me  so  many  songs  ?  " 

"  O,  those  were  the  happiest  days  of  my  life," 
replied  Zephina  sorrowfully. 

But  the  hour  that  she  had  begged  was  past, 
and  she  must  take  leave. 


A   FRIENDLY   VISIT.  101 

"  Come  often  and  see  me,"  said  Beulah. 

"  No,  dearest,  I  cannot  come.  It  would  not  do 
at  all.  You  will  move  in  such  a  different  sphere, 
that  it  would  only  be  a  mortification  to  you  to 
own  me  for  an  intimate  friend,  and  it  would  pain 
me  to  be  received  in  any  other  way." 

"  That  is  the  first  unkind  thing  that  you  ever 
said  to  me,  Zephina.  It  makes  no  difference 
what  spheres  we  move  in ;  nothing  can  divide  our 
hearts." 

uThe  same  simple,  kind-hearted  Beulah!  "  ex- 
claimed her  friend,  throwing  her  arms  around  her 
neck.  "  I  must  have  one  more  kiss,  and  I  will  love 
you  as  well  as  ever,  but  I  really  have  no  time  for 
paying  visits,  —  not  a  moment  to  spare  from  my 
employment  and  from  poor  mamma." 

Harriet  Ann  was  anxiously  waiting  for  Zephi- 
na. Her  splendid  dress  of  white  satin,  with  a 
transparent  gauze  over-dress,  must  be  finished, 
and  she  was  in  agony  for  fear  it  would  not  be 
done.  Then  she  needed  a  magnificent  white  veil. 
This  she  asked  Zephina  to  lend  her  from  the 
shop,  which  was  promptly  refused. 

"  Then  I  must  run  in  debt  for  one,"  said  Harriet 
Ann,  "  for  I  have  n't  a  dollar  left  of  my  quarterly 
income." 


CHAPTER    XVII. 


LES  TABLEAUX  VIVANTS. 

"  It  is  not  my  intention,  Beulah,  to  take  you  often 
into  society,"  said  Mrs.  Whately ;  "  you  are  quite 
too  young ;  moreover,  it  would  withdraw  your  at- 
tention from  your  studies,  but  as  you  have  never 
seen  any  tableaux,  I  am  going  to  take  you  to 
Mrs.  Markham's  this  evening." 

"  Tableaux,  —  do  n't  laugh  at  my  ignorance,  —  I 
am  entirely  at  a  loss  to  guess  what  they  are." 

"I  never  laugh  at  ignorance  of  any  kind, 
and  this  —  with  regard  to  an  amusement  —  is  a 
mere  trifle.  Tableaux  vivants  are  living  pic- 
tures ;  —  but  I  shall  tell  you  no  more,  lest  it 
should  impair  your  enjoyment  of  the  evening. 
You  will  find  your  dress  already  prepared,  and 
laid  in  your  room." 

Beulah  flew  to  her  room,  and  there  lay  a  simple 


LES  TABLEAUX  VIVANTS.         103 

white-muslin  dress,  with  a  blue  sash.  She  took 
her  purse,  went  down  to  Mrs.  Whately,  and,  put- 
ting it  into  her  hand,  begged  to  her  to  pay  for  it. 
She  refused  at  once,  having  designed  it  for  a 
present. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  said  Beu- 
lah,  "  but  my  father  forbade  me  to  accept  pres- 
ents." 

"  Did  he  ?  —  that  was  so  like  his  sturdy  inde- 
pendence ;  —  then  I  must  deny  myself  the  pleas- 
ure, and  take  out  of  your  purse  the  ten  dollars 
that  the  dress  cost.  I  should  have  consulted  you, 
my  dear,  only  I  wished  to  give  you  an  agreeable 
surprise.  I  am  sorry  that  I  must  submit  to  so  un- 
pleasant a  necessity." 

As  Beulah  looked  in  the  glass,  arrayed  for  the 
evening,  did  she  not  feel  a  consciousness  of  her 
own  loveliness  ?  That  fact  never  transpired. 
Faces  have  blushed  at  beholding  their  own  beauty, 
and  it  is  possible  that  hers  did  ;  but  she  had  never 
been  told  that  she  had  any  personal  charms. 
She  was  not  vain,  and  it  is  just  possible  that  she 
had  never  made  the  discovery. 

Mrs.  Markham's  rooms  were  filled  with  as 
many  as  could  see  the  pictures,  and  a  few 
more  who  tried  very  hard.  Expectation  was 
on  tiptoe.    The  curtain  at  length  arose. 


104         LES  TABLEAUX  VIVANTS. 

The  frame  for  the  tableaux  was  gorgeously 
gilded,  the  vista  and  lights  well  arranged  for 
effect.  The  first  tableaux  was  magnificent.  It  was 
a  scene  from  Kenilworth.  Elizabeth,  when  she 
discovers  Amy  Robsart  in  the  grotto,  attired  as 
a  nymph. 

The  next  was  Rebecca  the  Jewess,  and 
Rowena.  The  scene  was  the  one  in  which  Re- 
becca presents  the  casket,  and  asks  to  see  the 
face  that  had  won  Ivanhoe.  No  one  could  have 
been  more  completely  Saxon  than  the  Rowena, 
and  the  dress,  and  the  lights,  and  the  contrast 
with  the  dark  Jewess,  made  her  look  veiy  pret- 
tily ;  —  but  the  moment  that  the  curtain  was 
"lifted,  Harriet  Ann  burst  into  a  silly,  girlish 
giggle,  and  entirely  spoiled  the  picture.  The 
passionate  Rebecca  was  so  angry  that  she  would 
not  attempt  the  scene  again,  and  Mrs.  Mark- 
ham  with  difficulty  concealed  her  displeasure. 

"That  must  have  been  Harriet  Ann  Gunn," 
said  Beulah  to  Mrs.  Whately. 

"  Very  probably  it  was,  from  her  behaviour," 
was  the  reply. 

Several  other  tableaux  followed,  and  were 
completely  successful,  —  delighting  the  young 
country -girl,   whose  love   for  the   beautiful   was 


LES  TABLEAUX  VIVANTS.         105 

so  deep  and  true,  that  few  persons  present  could 
have  received  more  enjoyment. 

Extempore  tableaux  followed.  Mrs.  Markham 
came  to  Beulah,  and  requested  her  to  sit  for  Hope 
Leslie.  She  frankly  confessed  that  she  knew 
nothing  of  the  character,  and  therefore  could  not 
express  it.  Others  were  suggested,  but  Beulah 
said  she  should  act  entirely  out  of  character  as 
any  thing  but  a  spectator,  and  begged  to  be  ex- 
cused. 

At  this  moment  a  young  gentleman  came  up, 
and  asked  an  introduction.  "My  son,  Hugh 
Markham,  Miss  Morris,"  said  the  lady. 

It  was  her  travelling  companion  on  the  way 
from  Baxter. 

Harriet  Ann  had  just  taken  a  seat  by  Beulah, 
determined  to  claim  acquaintance.  "This  is 
quite  a  novelty  to  you,  Miss  Morris,"  said  she, 
pertly,  — "  quite  a  novelty.  You  do  n't  get  up 
such  beautiful  things  in  Baxter." 

"  They  are  quite  new  to  me,"  replied  Beulah, 
"  and  very  pleasing." 

"  Then  I  am  not  mistaken ;  I  should  have 
known  that  voice  among  ten  thousand,"  said 
Markham. 

"  It  is  mellifluous  and  significant,  certingly," 
abruptly  exclaimed  Harriet  Ann. 


106  LES    TABLEAUX    VIVA3STS. 

Markham,  though  annoyed  by  this  strange 
speech,  was  amused  at  its  absurdity.  He  made 
another  attempt,  however,  to  converse  with  Beulah. 
"Do  you  pass  the  winter  in  Boston,  Miss 
Morris  ?  " 

"  I  do ;  I  am  making  quite  a  long  visit  to  Mrs. 
Whately,"  she  replied. 

"  Are  you,  indeed  !  "  exclaimed  Harriet  Ann. 
"  I  am  infinitely  glad  of  it,  for  I  have  an  imperious 
desire  to  become  acquainted  with  her.  Do  me 
the  satisfaction  to  introduce  me,  will  you,  Beulah  ? 
I  must  call  you  so,  for  it  seems  so  like  old  times. 
But  is  n't  yours  a  very  queer  name  ?  Do  you 
like  it?" 

"  It  was  my  grandmother's  name,"  was  the 
brief  reply. 

"  Well,  I  do  n't  think  any  body  ought,  by  good 
rights,  to  be  named  after  their  grandmother,  for 
names  do  get  so  old-fashioned.  I  hope  now 
we  've  met,  that  I  shall  see  you  often  in  company 
this  winter." 

"  I  am  too  young  to  go  into  society ;  my  stud- 
ies will  occupy  most  of  my  time,"  said  Beu- 
lah. 

"  What  difference  does  that  make.  I  go  to 
school,  and  yet  I  shall  go  into  company  a  great 


LES  TABLEAUX  VIVANTS.         107 

deal.  I  am  studying  Music,  Drawing,  French, 
Italian,  History,  Chemistry,  Geometry,  Painting, 
Dancing,  Composition,  and  Moral  Philosophy. 
What  are  you  studying,  Beulah  ?  and  where  do 
you  go  to  school  ?  I  go  to  the  fust  school  in 
Boston.     I  wonder  you  do  n't  go  there." 

"  Mrs  Whately  is  so  kind  as  to  instruct  me  at 
home." 

"Well,  now,  that  is  very  odd;  I  should  n't 
think  she  'd  find  time.  But  now  you  will  re- 
member to  call  me  Harriet  Ann,  won't  you." 

"  Excuse  me,  miss,"  said  Markham,  "  but 
what  is  your  surname." 

"  Gunn.  It 's  a  horrible  name  to  pun  upon  ;  I 
could  tell  you  fifty  capital  ones  that  have  been 
made  upon  it." 

Markham  could  think  of  but  one,  he  wished 
earnestly  that  it  would  go  off. 

"  Are  you  trying  to  think  of  one  ?"  inquired 
Miss  Gunn.  "  I  've  heard  you  were  excruciat- 
ingly witty.  If  you  can't  make  it  out,  our  young 
country  friend  might  help  you,  for  I  believe  she 
is  what  Yankees  her  way  call  smart." 

"  I  never  made  a  pun  in  my  life,"  said  Beulah. 

"  Well,  it  is  strange  how  little  of  bagatelle  peo- 
ple up  country  do  know,"  said  Miss  Gunn. 
10 


108         LES  TABLEAUX  VIVANTS. 

Beulah's  quiet  smile  was  unperceived  by  Har- 
riet Ann,  but  did  not  escape  tbe  notice  of  Mark- 
ham. 

"  How  do  you  like  my  costume  ?"  inquired 
Harriet  Ann.  "  I  left  it  entirely  to  my  milliner, 
one  Fanshaw,  who  has  a  great  deal  of  taste.  I 
never  trouble  myself  about  what  I  shall  wear,  I 
just  give  my  orders  and  pay  down  the  money, 
when  they  are  done  to  my  liking.'" 

Beulah's  eyes  flashed,  and  her  heightened  color 
betrayed  momentary  feeling,  instantly  repressed. 

"  Mr.  Markham,"  said  she,  u  have  you  seen 
Mrs.  Whately ;  I  have  missed  her  for  some  time." 

"  Yes,  I  saw  her  in  the  other  parlour ;  will  you 
take  my  arm,  and  we  will  find  her." 

Beulah  gladly  accepted  the  offer,  and  soon 
found  Mrs.  Whately. 

"  Where  did  you  pick  up  that  piece  of  vulgar- 
ity for  a  Rowena  ?  "  inquired  Markham  of  his 
mother ;  "  she  has  been  grievously  annoying  that 
sweet  young  girl,  Beulah  Morris. 

But  that  sweet  girl,  as  you  call  her,  must  be  a 
match  for  her  in  awkwardness.  She  is  green 
from  an  out-of-the-world  village,"  said  Mrs. 
Markham. 

ki  She  is  perfectly  lady-like   in  sentiment   and 


LES  TABLEAUX  VIVANTS.         109 

manners.  I  met  her  when  she  first  started  for 
Boston,  and  was  with  her  all  the  way,  and  yet  I 
could  not  summon  resolution  to  address  her  with- 
out an  introduction,  this  evening,"  remarked  the 
son. 

"  Miss  Gunn  has  quite  a  pretty  fortune,  I  am 
told,  and  I  wish  you  to  be  polite  to  her,  and  there 
are  a  great  many  other  girls  that  you  ought  to 
notice  before  that  Beulah  Morris,"  said  his  mother. 

But,  notwithstanding  the  suggestion,  Harriet  Ann 
was  destined  to  enact  wall-flower  the  remainder 
of  the  evening,  nobody  taking  the  least  notice 
of  her. 

She  had  given  express  orders  to  the  waiter,  that 
he  should  announce  aloud  when  her  carriage 
arrived.  Accordingly,  "  Miss  Gunn's  carriage  " 
sounded  through  the  apartments,  and  every  eye 
was  directed  towards  her.  She  arose,  and,  in- 
stead of  going  to  Mrs.  Markham  to  take  leave, 
she  walked  nearly  to  the  door  of  the  parlour, 
then,  turning  round,  said  in  a  loud  voice,  "  Good 
evening,  gentlemen  and  ladies,"  and  then  fol- 
lowed that  courtesy,  that  astonishing  courtesy,  and 
Miss  Gunn  disappeared,  —  every  one  acknowl- 
edging that  to  have  been  the  most  amusing  per- 
formance of  the  evening. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 


A  FATHER'S  LETTER. 

Two  weeks  after  the  tableaux,  Beulah  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  her  father.  We  will  not 
vouch  for  the  authenticity  of  the  orthography, 
but,  in  other  respects,  the  following  is  a  true  copy. 

"  Dear  Beulah  :  — 

44  Yours  of  the  18th  duly  received.  We  are 
all  comfortable.  Your  mother  and  I  have  miss- 
ed you  unaccountably,  but  we  are  much  less 
lonesome  now  Azariah  has  got  married  and 
fetched  his  wife  home  ;  a  nice,  industrious  young 
woman  your  new  sister  is,  just  fit  for  a  farmer's 
wife  ;  — -  none  of  your  hoity-toity  high-flyers. 

44  What  queer  things  the  live  pictures  that  you 
describe  must  be.  I  am  glad  our  little  Beulah 
did  not  show  herself  off  to  the  city  folks  in  one 


a  father's  letter.  Ill 

of  them.  It  is  never  worth  while  to  play  a  game 
with  folks  who  know  how  to  play  it  a  great  deal 
better  than  we  do.  Medad  was  mightily  tickled 
to  think  Harriet  Ann  came  off  no  better.  He 
says,  he  believes  now  that  the  proud  girl  is  so 
puffed  up  with  pride,  because  she  has  got  a  little 
money,  that  was  the  reason  she  did  not  wish  to 
know  him. 

"  Our  Medad  has  of  late  taken  a  great  fancy  for 
learning.  He  goes  to  school  this  winter,  and 
reads  and  studies  every  night  till  ten  or  eleven. 

"  Now,  Beulah,  I  must  give  you  a  little  good 
advice.  Do  n't,  because  you  are  learning  to  play 
on  the  piano,  and  other  fine  accomplishments, 
do  n't  go  for  to  forget  that  you  will  have  one  of 
these  days  to  be  a  useful  woman,  and  be  a  com- 
fort to  me  and  to  your  mother.  We  go  for  com- 
fort, and  do  n't  feel  as  if  we  could  bear  to  have 
you  come  back  to  us  spoiled,  and  lose  all  those 
pretty,  winning  ways  that  you  used  to  have. 

"  You  always  was  a  good  girl,  Beulah,  and  if 
you  should  go  far  away  for  to  change  into  one  of 
thern  silly  things,  such  as  Medad  describes,  with 
the  diddle-cum-twiddle  walk,  (the  fellow  really 
has  some  humor,)  it  would  almost  break  our 
hearts. 


112  a  father's  letter. 

"  People  who  live  in  great  brick  houses  often 
have  very  little  souls,  —  just  as  you  have  seen 
a  very  small  pea  in  a  very  large  pod.  And  be- 
cause a  great  many  people  live  together  where 
the  streets  and  houses  are  so  blocked  up  that 
it 's  a  wonder  that  each  gets  his  due  allowance  of 
air  to  breathe,  —  because  these  people  are  thus 
jammed  together  in  a  city,  it 's  no  reason  they 
should  think  so  much  more  of  themselves,  and 
despise  country-people  who  have  always  breathed 
the  free  air  of  heaven,  without  so  much  as  say- 
ing, 6  By  your  leave,'  to  any  human  being. 

"  But,  Beulah,  your  mother  and  I  begin  to  grow 
somewhat  oldish.  We  've  been  a  hard-working 
couple,  and  after  tugging  and  toiling  so  many 
years  we  've  got  together  some  thousands  for  our 
children.  And  as  you  won't  have  to  begin  where 
we  did,  it  's  very  well  that  you  should  have  a 
better  education  than  we  did.  Knowledge  is  a 
good  thing  if  used  rightly.  And  as  to  behaviour 
you  can't  have  a  better  example  than  cousin 
Whately.  Our  grandmother  always  said,  that 
Laura  was  more  likely  to  make  a  perfect  lady  than 
any  grandchild  she  had. 

"  But  your  mother  and  I,  as  I  was  saying,  have 
got  somewhat  on  the  downhill  of  life,  and  we 


A    FATHERS    LETTER.  113 

can't  always  jog  on  together.  We  've  got  to 
part,  and,  whichever  goes  first,  the  one  that  's  left 
will  need  kindness  from  the  children.  Their  lov- 
ing hearts  I  hope  will  be  the  stay  of  our  old  age. 

"  Ever  since  I  left  off  the  bitters  and  toddy,  I  've 
been  a  more  sober-minded  man.  I  thank  you,  dear 
child,  for  persuading  me  to  it,  and  I  read  my 
Bible  more,  and  latterly  think  more  about  dying, 
and  being  fit  to  die,  by  living  well ;  and  when  you 
come  home,  Beulah,  I  shall  want  you  to  sit  in  the 
chimney-corner,  and  read  the  good  book  loud  to 
us,  and  sing  us  sacred  hymns  with  the  sweet 
voice  that  was  given  you  to  praise  your  Maker. 

"  Give  our  respects  to  cousin  Whately.  I  'm 
glad  she  has  proven  such  a  good  friend  ;  —  but 
you  did  right  not  to  accept  presents. 

"  Azariah  and  his  wife  send  lots  of  love,  in  which 
Medad  desires  to  join.  Your  mother's  heart  is  al- 
ways full  to  the  brim  of  love  for  you,  and  so  is 
that  of  your  father, 

"  Joab  Morris. 

"P.  S.  I  am  sorry  to  hear  of  the  mishaps 
that  have  befallen  poor  Mrs.  Fanshaw.  Riches 
have  wings.  Tell  Zephina  I  should  be  right  glad 
to  see"  her  at  our  house ;  I  hope  she  has  n't  lost 


114 

her  appetite.  It  's  very  great  nobleness  in  her 
to  support  and  be  so  kind  to  her  mother,  —  poor, 
wordly  woman  that  she  was.  Medad's  watch 
proves  an  uncommon  good  one,  and  your  mother 
and  I  were  pleased  that  he  made  the  purchase. 
He  is  a  shrewd  one,  or  he  would  have  got  taken 
in.  There  now,  I  promised  to  leave  a  place  for 
him  to  write  a  postcript,  and  I  've  most  filled  up 
the  paper." 

Medad's  P.  S.  "Do  n't  tell  any  body  for 
the  world  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you.  The 
other  day  I  was  reading  in  a  book  of  poetry  and 
flowers,  and  there  was  a  little  bluish  flower  with 
four  leaves,  called  a  forget-me-not.  Then  I  ex- 
amined my  watch-case,  and  lo  and  behold,  it 
was  a  forget-me-not !  What  do  you  think  of  that, 
Beulah  ?  Ask  —  you  know  who  —  if  she  knew 
the  name  of  it  when  she  worked  it  for  me,  and 
tell  her,  if  she  did,  I  will  obey  the  command  till 
death." 

Beulah  wiped  away  the  tears  that  flowed 
abundantly  during  the  perusal  of  this  letter,  and 
resolved  to  go  immediately  to  see  Mrs.  Fanshaw. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


AN  INVALID. 


Mrs.  Whately  took  Beulah   to  No.   19 


Street,  and  left  her  at  a  plain  but  respectable 
looking  house.  Beulah  knocked  gently  at  the 
door  of  a  front  room  in  the  second  story,  and  a 
feeble  voice  bade  her  come  in.     She  entered. 

Mrs.  Fanshaw  was  supported  by  pillows  in 
bed,  so  that  she  was  nearly  in  a  sitting  posture. 
She  looked  at  Beulah  without  recognizing  her, 
and  said,  in  a  gentle  voice,  "  Come  nearer,  if 
you  please,  Miss,  that  I  may  see  who  it  is." 

Beulah,  coming  near  and  extending  her  hand,  re- 
plied, "  It  is  Beulah  Morris,  your  daughter's 
friend." 

"  Indeed  !  "  exclaimed  the  invalid.  "  How  tall 
you  have  grown ! "  and  she  was  going  to  add, 
"  and  how  very  pretty,"  but  changed  it  to  the 
11 


116 


AN    INVALID. 


simple  request,  "  Will  you  take  a  seat  ?  I  am 
very  glad  to  see  you." 

The  room  was  in  perfect  order.  The  counter- 
pane on  the  bed  was  as  white  as  snow,  and  the 
little  table  that  stood  by  the  bedside  was  covered 
with  a  clean  napkin,  under  which  were  medicines, 
grapes,  and  oranges.  Every  thing,  in  short,  showed 
the  most  delicate  attention  to  the  comfort  of  the 
invalid.  By  her  side  lay  a  Bible  and  one  or 
two  devotional  books,  which  she  seemed  to  have 
been  reading. 

Mrs.  Fanshaw  was  extremely  pale.  Instead  of 
the  contemptuous,  dissatisfied  expression  that  had 
formerly  disfigured  her  countenance,  there  was 
a  look  of  quiet  resignation  that  went  directly  to 
Beulah's  heart.  She  expressed  regret  at  finding 
her  so  ill. 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  Mrs.  Fanshaw ;  "  I  ought 
to  be  grateful  for  relief  from  extreme  suffering. 
I  am  sorry  Zephina  is  not  here  to  see  you.  But 
she  has  no  time  to  spare  from  her  daily  occupa- 
tion and  from  her  poor,  feeble  mother.  We  em- 
ploy a  woman  to  prepare  our  meals  and  take 
care  of  our  (apartments,  she  was  going  to  say, 
but  immediately  corrected  herself,  and  said,  with 
an  effort)  one  room." 


AN    INVALID.  117 

"  I  saw  Zephina  a  short  time  since,  and  she 
appeared  quite  cheerful,"  said  Beulah. 

"  My  noble  girl  is  the  greatest  possible  blessing 
to  me,"  continued  Mrs.  Fanshaw.  "  You  remem- 
ber, Beulah,  —  for  I  must  call  you  by  the  name  that 
Zephina  so  dearly  loves,  —  you  remember,  that  I 
wished  Zephina  to  become  an  accomplished  lady. 
Poor,  misguided  woman  that  I  was.  I  thought, 
then,  only  of  external  accomplishments.  Sick- 
ness and  sorrow  have  been  the  appointed  messen- 
gers of  good  to  me,  and  the  world  has  so  far  re- 
ceded that  I  can  see  it  in  its  true  light.  Zephina 
always  loved  the  true  and  the  useful,  and  under- 
stood the  real  value  of  accomplishments  better 
than  I  did.  When  I  see  her  performing  her 
arduous  duties  so  faithfully  and  so  cheerfully,  I 
am  ready  to  exclaim, 

'  There  is  a  beauty  in  her  daily  life 
That  makes  my  own  look  ugly.'  " 

There  was  a  momentary  pause,  and  then  Beu- 
lah mentioned  her  father's  letter,  and  his  kind 
remembrance  of  Zephina,  and  his  desire  to  have 
her  make  a  visit  at  Baxter. 

"  What  generous  kindness  !  "  exclaimed  the 
invalid ;  "  and  do  you  know,  Beulah,  that,  in  my 
foolish  and  wicked  heart,  I  despised  country  peo- 
ple, and  called  them  vulgar  ?  " 


118  AN    INVALID. 

"  You  did  not  become  acquainted  with  them, 
and  therefore  could  not  judge  with  regard  to  their 
character  or  manners,"  kindly  replied  Beulah. 

"  How  seldom  do  we  meet  with  such  disinter- 
ested kindness  as  you  have  shown  to  Zephina  !  " 
continued  Mrs.  Fanshaw.  "  Harriet  Ann  Gunn 
has  become  quite  rich,  and  now  she  never  comes 
to  see  us.  She  passes  Zephina  in  the  street,  and 
cuts  her  deliberately." 

"  If  it  would  afford  you  any  pleasure,"  said 
Beulah,  "  I  should  like  to  come  and  read  to  you 
quite  often.    Zephina  says  it  fatigues  you  to  read." 

"  I  should  be  exceedingly  obliged  to  you,  for  of 
late  my  eyes  are  weak ;  I  am  so  much  alone  that 
I  have  relied  upon  these  for  my  companions," 
said  the  invalid,  laying  her  hand  upon  the  Bible 
and  her  other  books. 

Beulah  then  rose  to  go,  —  leaving  her  best 
love  for  Zephina,  and  a  little  note,  which  she  laid 
upon  the  table.  It  was  Medad's  postscript,  in  an 
envelope,  with  a  few  lines  from  Beulah  herself. 


CHAPTER    XX 


HARRIET  ANN  AT  HOME. 

Mr.  Prium  was,  as  Mrs.  Markham  had  said, 
a  very  respectable  man,  and  his  wife  an  excellent 
woman. 

Mr.  Gunn  died  insolvent,  soon  after  Harriet 
Ann  returned  from  Baxter,  and  left  her  penniless. 
Mrs.  Prium,  his  sister,  received  his  orphan  into  her 
family,  and  her  husband  freely  gave  her  a  home. 
She  had  been  with  this  kind  family  about  a 
year  when  a  brother  much  older  than  herself, 
who  had  been  absent,  many  years,  died,  and  left 
her  a  pretty  fortune,  —  she  thought  it  immense. 

Feeling  the  added  consequence  that  this  unex- 
pected good  fortune  gave  her,  she  began  to  de- 
spise her  kind  benefactors.  She  went  to  school, 
and  there  made  herself  ridiculous  by  her  preten- 
sion.   Whenever  any  new  acquaintances  walked 


120  HARRIET   ANN   AT    HOME. 

towards  home  with  her,  she  would  go  half  a  mile 
out  of  the  way  rather  than  to  have  them  see  her 
enter  her  uncle's  house. 

One  day,  as  she  was  coming  from  school  with 
two  of  her  schoolmates,  a  sudden  shower  came 
up,  and  one  of  the  girls  proposed  that  they  should 
take  an  omnibus. 

"An  omnibus !"  exclaimed  Harriet  Ann.  "I 
am  horrified !  I  should  be  ashamed  to  be  seen  in 
an  omnibus,  they  are  so  shocking  vulgar.  What 
would  folks  think  of  us !  " 

"  I  do  n't  care  what  they  think,"  said  the  girl 
who  had  made  the  proposal.  "  Here  comes  one. 
Let 's  jump  in."  And  they  were  soon  in  the  coach, 
Harriet  Ann  not  being  willing  to  be  left  alone  in 
the  rain. 

The  coach  was  somewhat  crowded.  "  Can't 
you  move,  woman  ?  "  said  Harriet  Ann  to  a  most 
respectable  looking  person. 

"  Perhaps  I  could,  if  you  were  to  request  it 
more  politely,"  she  replied. 

"  Who  expects  politeness  in  an  omnibus !  "  de- 
manded Harrriet  Ann,  in  an  exceedingly  imperti- 
nent manner. 

"  Every  lady,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

When   they  were   not  far  from  Mr.   Prium's 


HARRIET   ANN    AT   HOME.  121 

door,  Harriet  Ann  said  to  her  companions,  "I 
have  got  to  get  out  on  an  errand  at  a  house  just 
above,  and  there  I  can  borrow  an  umbrella  to  go 
home.     Boy,  stop  at  Mr.  Prium's." 

"  Mr.  Prium,  the  baker  ?  "  said  the  boy. 

"  Yes  ;  I  believe  he  is  a  baker,  or  some  such 
sort  of  a  thing,"  she  muttered. 

The  coach  stopped,  and  out  came  Mr.  Prium 
with  an  umbrella.  "  Harriet  Ann,"  said  the  good 
man,  asjie  stepped  to  the  coach  to  help  her  out, 
"  I  was  just  going  for  thee,  I  am  glad  thee  has  got 
home  without  a  wetting." 

"  Is  n't  that  too  bad  !  "  exclaimed  one  of  her 
companions.  "  That  was  her  uncle.  How  kindly 
he  spoke  to  her,  and  what  a  fine-looking  man  he 
is.     How  can  she  despise  him  ! " 

"  He  is  one  of  the  most  benevolent  men  in  the 
world,  and  universally  respected,"  said  the  lady 
to  whom  Harriet  Ann  had  so  rudely  spoken ;  "  and 
that  I  suppose  is  the  orphan  whom  he  received 
into  his  house  out  of  charity.  Mistaken  girl ! 
She  may  disgrace  her  uncle,  but  his  relationship 
would  be  an  honor  to  any  one." 

Thus  the  foolish  stratagem  and  the  wicked 
falsehood  were  perfectly  understood,  and  met 
with  the  contempt  that  they  merited. 


122  HARRIET   ANN   AT    HOME. 

Mr.  Prium's  mother  lived  in  his  family,  a  ven- 
erable woman  of  eighty,  to  whom  the  whole 
household,  with  one  exception,  paid  the  most 
deferential  respect.  "  Come,  get  up,  granny,  you 
are  on  my  work,"  said  Harriet  Ann,  who  had 
taken  the  large  chair  especially  appropriated  to 
the  aged  grandmother,  and  had  left  her  own  work 
in  it  when  the  good  old  lady  happened  to  be  out 
of  the  room.  "  Come,  get  up  quick,  I  wish  you 
would  not  always  be  poking  yourself  in  every 
body's  way." 

"My  eyesight  is  failing,  child,  and  I  did  not 
see  your  work,"  replied  she,  mildly. 

"  Well,  people  that  are  so  old  are  always  in  the 
way.  They  might  at  least  stay  in  their  own 
room,"  said  the  rude  girl. 

Those  aged  eyes,  from  which  no  tears  had 
fallen  for  many  a  year,  now  filled,  and  the  large 
drops  rolled  over  the  withered  cheeks.  "  Merciful 
God !  I  thank  thee,  that  thou  hast  given  thy  ser- 
vant good  and  dutiful  children,"  fervently  ejac- 
ulated the  venerable  woman. 

Mr.  Prium  had  just  entered  the  door  and  heard 
this  conversation.  "  Harriet  Ann  Gunn,"  said  he, 
"  how  durst  thee  speak  thus  to  my  respected 
mother !     Thee  calls  thyself  a   lady ;  is  this  the 


HARRIET   ANN   AT    HOME.  123 

proof?  Gray  hairs  are  a  crown  of  glory  when 
found,  like  my  blessed  mother's,  in  the  way  of 
righteousness.  Contempt  for  the  aged  is  a  mean- 
ness as  well  as  a  sin." 

"  I  forgive  her,  and  so  must  thee,  Thomas ;  in 
giddy  girlhood  there  is  much  thoughtlessness," 
said  the  saintlike  woman. 

"  Yet  youth,  my  good  mother,  is  the  season  for 
gentleness  and  affection,"  replied  Mr.  Prium, 
"and  she  who  lacks  these  amiable  qualities  in 
the  spring-time  of  life,  will  be  cold  hearted  before 
its  summer,  and  frozen  into  very  ice  long  before 
its  autumn." 

uThat  is  quite  a  poetical  speech  for  a  Qua- 
Ker,"    said  the   incorrigible   girl,   upon  whom  it 
seemed  impossible   to   make   one   favorable  im 
pression. 

"  Thy  heart  is  already  ice,  Harriet  Ann,"  he 
replied,  with  more  severity  than  he  was  ever 
known  to  use  in  his  whole  life  before ;  "  and  the 
mistaken  man,  who  should  take  thee  to  his  bo- 
som for  a  wife,  would  find  thee  a  viper  there." 


CHAPTER    XXL 


AN  AWKWARD  ACQUAINTANCE. 

As  Mrs.  Whately  and  her  young  friend  were 
going  to  church  one  Sunday,  the  latter  suddenly 
exclaimed,  "  There  comes  Dr.  Weasenby !  Shall 
I  try  the  Boston  fashion  of  cutting  an  acquaint- 
ance ?  " 

"  By  no  means,  Beulah ;  I  am  sure  you  would 
not  do  such  a  foolish  thing,"  replied  Mrs. 
Whately. 

"  Not  unless  you  wish  it,  I  certainly  should 
not,"  was  the  reply. 

Sure  enough,  there  was  "  the  doctor's  young 
man,"  more  starched  and  stiff-necked  than  ever, 
dressed  in  a  complete  suit  of  glossy  black.  He 
bowed  in  the  most  formal  manner,  and  then  came 
to  a  full  stand,  extending  his  hand  to  Beulah  in  a 
new  yellow  glove,  so  unpliable  that  he  could  not 
bend  his  fingers. 


AN    AWKWARD   ACQUAINTANCE.  125 

There  was  the  slightest  possible  degree  of  con- 
descension in  Beulah's  manner  as  she  touched  the 
tips  of  those  awkward  fingers,  and  politely  returned 
the  bow.  Dr.  Weasenby  saw  nothing  but  the 
greatest  cordiality  in  her  manner,  and  inquired 
where  she  was  going  to  church. 

"  I  am  going  with  Mrs.   Whately  to"  church." 

The  Doctor,  taking  this  for  an  introduction  to  the 
lady,  raised  his  hat  straight  up  a  quarter  of  a  yard 
above  his  head  without  inclining  it  an  inch,  and 
then  settled  it  so  carefully  as  not  to  disturb  a  sin- 
gle hair.  "  Well,  I  will  wait  upon  you,  ladies," 
said  he,  just  as  Mrs.  Whately  was  going  to  in- 
vite him. 

"  How  long  is  it  since  you  were  in  Baxter, 
Sir  ?  "  asked  Beulah. 

"  Three  weeks,  precisely.  I  asked  the  Squire 
to  write  to  you,  but  just  then  it  was  a  special 
busy  time,  and  he  could  n't.  He  's  nicely,  and  so 
is  the  old  woman,"  replied  the  Doctor. 

"  And  my  brothers,  they  are  well,  I  suppose, 
or  I  should  have  heard  of  it,"   said  Beulah. 

"  They  are  both  smart.  Baxter  is  an  amazing 
healthy  place,  and  I  have  come  to  settle  in  Boston, 
where  it 's  more  sickly." 

No  sooner  were   they  seated  in  church,  than 


126  AN    AWKWARD    ACQUAINTANCE. 

Dr.  Weasenby  smoothed  up  his  hair  in  front,  and 
down  behind,  in  his  own  peculiar  manner.  A 
loud  whispering  and  half-suppressed  tittering  was 
heard  in  the  pew  behind  them.  It  was  Harriet 
Ann  and  her  constant  companion,  Miss  Stiltaker. 
They  were  vastly  amused  with  the  specimen  of  a 
country  beau  before  them,  and  kept  their  heads 
together,  whispering  under  each  other's  bonnets, 
during  the  whole  time  they  were  in  church,  to 
the  great  annoyance  of  those  who  were  near 
them. 

Dr.  Weasenby,  on  the  contrary,  was  reveren- 
tial in  his  manner,  and  Mrs.  Whately  was  not  in 
the  least  troubled  because  the  stranger  with  her 
happened  not  to  be  quite  as  elegant  in  his  appear- 
ance as  her  acquaintances  generally  were. 

As  soon  as  service  was  over,  and  Beulah  had 
stepped  out  of  the  pew,  she  was  seized  rudely  by 
Harriet  Ann,  who  whispered  in  her  ear,  loud 
enough  to  startle  those  in  their  neighbourhood, 
"  Why,  Beulah  Morris,  who  have  you  got  with 
you  ?  That  poke-a-moonshine,  I  mean."  Beulah 
was  quite  too  much  surprised  to  answer  immedi- 
ately, and  the  rude  girl  continued,  "  He  is  indu- 
bitably a  Baxter  man,  I  know  him  by  the  cut  of 
his  hair." 


AN    AWKWARD    ACQUAINTANCE.  127 

Beulah  whispered,  very  low,  "  I  am  afraid  he 
will  hear  you.  He  is  a  young  physician,  who  has 
just  established  himself  in  Boston." 

"  Is  it  possible ! "  exclaimed  Harriet  Ann, 
whose  opinion  seemed  to  undergo  a  very  sudden 
change.  "  I  had  n't  an  idea  that  he  was  a  profes- 
sional man." 

By  this  time  they  were  at  the  door,  and,  their 
way  homeward  being  in  different  directions,  they 
parted.  Dr.  Weasenby  accompanied  Mrs.  Whate- 
ly  and  Beulah,  and  when  they  reached  home, 
Mrs.  Whately  very  politely  asked  him  to  walk  in. 

"  Not  now,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  but  I  shall  try 
to  call  very  soon." 

"  That  is  rather  an  awkward  young  man,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Whately,  when  they  had  entered  the 
house,  "  but  by  no  means  so  vulgar  as  those  silly 
girls  who  sat  giggling  at  him  in  church.  I  have 
often  noticed  them  at  concerts  and  lectures.  In- 
stead of  listening  themselves,  they  prevent  others 
from  hearing  by  their  continual  whispering ;  and 
now  and  then  comes  a  derisive  laugh  from  them, 
which  proves  they  are  amusing  themselves  by 
ridiculing  every  one.  In  the  street,  too,  their  rude 
impertinence  is  almost  insulting.  I  have  repeat- 
edly heard  the  inquiry  made,  '  Who  is  that  very 


128  AN   AWKWARD    ACQUAINTANCE. 

vulgar  girl  with  the  long  light  curls  ?  '  Beulah, 
dear,  you  must  be  civil  to  her,  but  she  is  so  en- 
croaching and  obtrusive,  that  it  is  necessary  to 
treat  her  with  great  coolness." 

There  was  nothing  in  the  circumstances  or 
appearance  of  Harriet  Ann  Gunn  that  prevented 
her  from  becoming  a  lady.  Every  one  must  ac- 
knowledge that  it  was  entirely  her  own  fault 
that  she  could  not  be  received  into  the  society 
which  she  sought  with  bold  pertinacity. 


CHAPTER    XXII 


A  FRIEND  IN  AFFLICTION. 

The  next  time  that  Beulah  visited  Mrs.  Fan- 
shaw,  she  purchased  on  the  way  a  beautiful  bou- 
quet to  place  upon  her  little  table. 

The  invalid  received  the  attention  gratefully. 
"  I  love  flowers,  now,"  said  she,  "  better  than  I 
ever  did  before  in  my  life ;  they  are  indeed  the 
1  poetry  of  earth,'  as  the  stars  are  '  the  poetry  of 
heaven.'  Every  thing  that  speaks  to  me  of  the 
wisdom  and  goodness  of  the  Creator  now  gives 
me  unspeakable  pleasure.  My  young  friend,  do 
you  know  how  indifferent  I  was  to  all  these  things 
when  I  was  in  the  country  ?  " 

"  I  know  you  went  out  very  little,"  replied 
Beulah. 

"  Uncover  those  ottomans,  if  you  please,"  said 
she,  pointing  to   two   large   seats   covered   with 


130  A    FRIEND    IN    AFFLICTION. 

brown  linen.  "  There  was  my  bane.  I  labored 
over  those,  and  several  other  pieces  of  embroid- 
ery, until  I  ruined  my  health.  I  loved  all  artificial 
things  better  than  the  true  and  natural,  —  artificial 
manners,  artificial  enjoyments,  and  even  artificial 
flowers,  better  than  natural  ones.  I  could  not  but 
apply  to  myself  some  lines  that  I  read  the  other 
day,  from  one  of  the  English  poets.  Here  they 
are  ;  will  you  read  this  stanza  for  me  ?  " 

Beulah  read  the  following  lines,  from  Beattie's 
"  Minstrel "  : 

"  O,  how  canst  thou  renounce  the  boundless  store 
Of  charms  which  Nature  to  her  votary  yields? 
The  warbling  woodland,  the  resounding  shore, 
The  pomp  of  groves,  the  garniture  of  fields  ', 
All  that  the  genial  ray  of  morning  gilds, 
And  all  that  echoes  to  the  song  of  even, 
All  that  the  mountain's  sheltering  bosom  shields, 
And  all  the  dread  magnificence  of  Heaven  ; 
O,  how  canst  thou  renounce,  and  hope  to  be  forgiven?" 

"  How  much  I  might  have  enjoyed  had  I  loved 
the  country  as  Zephina  did.  Her  sweetest  recol- 
lections are  of  those  beautiful  scenes  about  your 
native  village,"  remarked  Mrs.  Fanshaw. 

"  Could  you  not  go  into  the  country  for  a  while," 
said  Beulah ;  "  it  would  be  beneficial  to  both  of 
you." 


A    FRIEND    IN   AFFLICTION.  131 

"  No,  my  dear  young  lady,  I  never  shall  be- 
hold again  in  life  groves  and  green  fields,"  sol- 
emnly replied  the  invalid. 

"  But  my  father  and  mother,  I  am  sure,  would 
do  every  thing  in  their  power  to  make  it  pleasant 
to  you,  if  you  and  Zephina  would  pay  them  a 
visit,"  replied  Beulah,  not  understanding  the  allu- 
sion. 

"  Your  kindness  makes  me  ashamed  of  myself. 
Too  well  do  I  remember  the  pride  and  wicked- 
ness of  my  heart,  the  only  time  that  I  ever  entered 
their  hospitable  dwelling.  There  was  a  lady 
from  a  distance  then  visiting  you.  Do  you  re- 
member who  it  was,  and  where  she  lives  ?  " 

"  Her  name  was  Mrs.  Whately,  and  she  lives  in 
Boston,"  replied  Beulah. 

"  Ah,  I  see  it  all ;  you  are  with  her  now. 
Zephina  did  not  tell  me,  I  suspect,  for  fear  it 
would  revive  painful  remembrances.  And  your 
cousin  knows  of  your  coming  to  my  humble 
room,  and  does  not  disapprove  of  it  ?  " 

"  She  would  be  most  happy  to  come  herself, 
and  testify  the  interest  she  feels  for  you  and  for 
Zephina,"  replied  Beulah. 

"  She  is  very  kind  ;  she  can  do  nothing  for  me, 
but  she  may  do  much  to  befriend  my  desolate 
12 


132  A    FRIEND    IN   AFFLICTION. 

child  when  I  am  gone."  The  invalid's  voice 
faltered,  and  she  changed  the  subject. 

"  You  kindly  promised  to  read  to  me,  Beulah, 
and  will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  turn  to  the  para- 
ble of  the  Prodigal  Son  ?  There  is  no  part  of  the 
Bible  so  touching,  and  at  the  same  time  so  consol- 
ing, as  the  teachings  of  our  blessed  Saviour." 

Beulah  found  the  parable,  and  read  it  in  that 
sweet,  soothing  tone,  so  grateful  to  an  ear  ren- 
dered sensitive  by  .long  illness,  and  a  heart 
bowed  down  with  many  sorrows. 

When  the  reading  was  ended,  Mrs.  Fanshaw 
said,  "Thus  have  I  wandered  from  my  Fa- 
ther's house,  and,  as  the  shadows  of  life's  close 
gather  around  me,  I  look  back  upon  the  enjoy- 
ments that  I  once  sought  with  such  avidity  as 
indeed  dry  husks.  Would  that  I  had  sooner 
learned  the  true  value  of  this  probationary  exis- 
tence." 

Beulah  now  took  leave,  promising  to  call  again 
very  soon.  "  My  dear  Beulah,  you  have  early 
learned  the  pleasure  of  doing  good ;  God  bless 
you,"  was  the  invalid's  parting  benediction. 

Only  a  few  days  after  this  visit,  a  messenger 
was  sent  in  great  haste  for  Beulah,  saying  that 
Mrs,  Fanshaw  was  dangerously  ill.     Beulah  was 


A   FRIEND    IN   AFFLICTION.  133 

just  dressing  for  a  concert,  to  which  she  was  going 
with  Mrs.  Whately.  Immediately  she  resumed 
her  plain  dress,  and,  the  carriage  being  at  the 
door,  went  instantly  to  her  afflicted  friend. 

Mrs.  Fanshaw  had  been  seized  with  paralysis, 
and  the  physician  who  had  been  summoned  pro- 
nounced the  case  a  hopeless  one.  Her  face  was 
terribly  distorted,  so  that  it  was  fearful  to  look 
upon.  Zephina  was  bathing  her  forehead,  and 
attempting  every  possible  means  of  relief.  Beulah 
resolved  to  remain  with  her,  and  despatched  the 
coachman  to  beg  permission  of  Mrs.  Whately. 
She  readily  granted  it,  and  sent  her  own  woman 
to  assist  in  any  way  that  might  be  needful. 

After  a  few  hours,  the  distorted  features  re- 
laxed, a  calm  expression  stole  over  them,  and  all 
suffering  seemed  to  have  passed  away.  And,  in 
that  silent  chamber, 

"  They  watched  her  breathing  through  the  night, 
Her  breathing  soft  and  low, 
As  in  hor  breast  the  wave  of  life 
Kept  heaving  to  and  fro. 

"  And  when  the  morn  rose  dim  and  sad, 
And  chill  with  early  showers, 
Her  quiet  eyelids  closed ;  —  she  had 
Another  rao,n  than  theirs." 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 


ZEPHINA'S   GRIEF. 


And  there  sat  Zephina  alone  watching  the 
dead.  Beulah  had  taken  her  home  with  her,  for 
a  few  hours,  on  that  sad  morning.  When  she  re- 
turned, the  room  was  in  the  neatest  possible  or* 
der,  and  the  corpse,  in  the  habiliments  of  the 
grave,  lay  upon  the  bedstead.  No  entreaties  on 
the  part  of  Mrs.  Whately  could  induce  the  de- 
voted girl  to  leave  the  lifeless  form  of  her  mother. 
There  she  remained  in  the  chamber  of  death,  in 
the  absorbed  quietness  of  deep  grief.  She  had 
been  the  heart's  idol  of  that  mother,  and,  whatever 
had  been  the  errors  or  the  foibles  of  the  departed, 
they  were  all  forgotten.  Zephina  remembered 
only  her  love  and  kindness.  And  what  earthly 
love  is  so  pure,  or  so  disinterested  ?  Who,  that 
has  known   the   deep    tenderness  of  a  mother's 


zephina's  grief.  135 

love,  is  not  ready  to  answer,  from  a  full  heart, 
"  Such  was  the  love  of  my  own  dear  mother." 

Without  any  care  on  the  part  of  Zephina,  every 
thing  was  arranged  for  the  funeral  on  the  follow- 
ing day.  Even  all  her  mourning  clothes  were 
sent  to  her  in  perfect  order.  Her  only  remaining 
relations  were  distant  ones,  who  lived  in  a  re- 
mote part  of  the  country. 

When  the  hour  for  the  funeral  arrived,  Mrs. 
Whately  and  Beulah  came  with  the  clergyman, 
and  four  of  Mrs.  Whately's  friends  as  pall-bearers. 
The  solemn  services  were  performed.  Mrs. 
Whately's  carriage  contained  all  the  mourners, 
for  that  kind  lady  and  Beulah  sympathized  so 
truly  with  the  desolate  Zephina,  that  the  mourn- 
ing garb  they  wore  was  neither  a  mere  form,  nor 
a  solemn  mockery.  As  they  wound  through  one 
of  those  beautiful  paths  at  Mount  Auburn,  so  calm 
was  Zephina  that  one  not  acquainted  with  grief 
would  have  said  that  she  did  not  feel  deeply,  — 
but  what  agony  is  like  that  wmch  finds  no  out- 
ward expression  ?  The  only  dry  eyes  at  that 
grave  were  those  of  the  chief  mourner,  when  the 
earth  fell  upon  that  coffin,  and  she  was  a  friend- 
less orphan.  No,  not  friendless ;  for  when  the 
carriage  stopped,  it  was  at  Mrs.  Whately's  door 


136  zephina's  grief. 

and  when  Zephina  hesitated  a  moment,  at  Beu- 
lah's  tone  of  gentle  entreaty,  "Dear  Zephina," 
she  allowed  herself  to  be  conducted  into  the 
house. 

Zephina  passed  a  week  with  Mrs.  Whately,  and 
then,  although  urged  to  remain  longer,  she  went 
back  to  her  lonely  and  desolate  room,  and  to  her 
daily  employment.  Her  character  was  so  truly 
noble,  that  it  could  not  fail  to  make  a  strong  im- 
pression. 

"  How  lovely  Zephina  looks  in  her  deep 
mourning  suit,"  said  Mrs.  Whately.  "  She  never 
seemed  so  sweet  and  amiable  before.  It  would 
be  difficult  to  find  any  one  more  lady-like.  From 
a  refined  delicacy  of  feeling  towards  her  departed 
mother,  she  now  takes  special  care  to  cultivate 
all  the  exterior  marks  of  a  well-bred  woman.  I 
admire,  too,  her  self-respect.  No  employment, — 
even  though  considered  far  below  the  respectable 
one  in  which  she  is  engaged,  —  no  honorable  em- 
ployment could  degrade  such  an  elevated  and 
truly  dignified  character." 

Such  praise  bestowed  upon  her  friend,  and 
coming,  too,  from  those  ever-truthful  lips,  made 
Beulah's  warm  heart  throb,  and  tears  come  gush- 
ing into  her  eyes ;  —  for,  ever,  when 


zephina's  grief.  137 

M  She  heard  the  praise  of  those  she  loved, 
The  mantling  blood,  in  ready  play, 
Rivalled  the  blush  of  early  day." 

Zephina's  employment  kept  her  so  constantly 
engaged,  that  for  a  time  she  saw  very  little  of 
Beulah.  This  sadly  grieved  them  both.  Mrs. 
Whately,  although  she  did  not  receive  company 
on  Sunday,  invited  Zephina  to  pass  that  day  with 
them,  and  they  would  not  consider  her  a  visiter. 
It  should  be  her  Sabbath  home.  And  so  indeed 
it  became,  for  Zephina  would  not  resist  such 
kindness.  All  through  the  week,  she  pursued, 
contentedly,  her  employment,  inspiring  every  one 
who  met  her  with  respect,  living  entirely  alone, 
yet  cheered  with  the  pleasant  anticipation  of  the 
blessed  day  of  rest,  the  soothing  sympathy  and 
kindness  of  Beulah,  and  the  wise  counsel  of  Mrs. 
Whately. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 


HOME. 


Beulah's  visit,  at  the  earnest  entreaty  of  her 
friend,  had  been  prolonged  from  time  to  time  un- 
til the  Squire's  patience  was  quite  exhausted,  and 
Mrs.  Morris  said  she  could  not  spare  her  another 
month.  Mrs.  Whately  was  compelled  to  yield  to 
their  urgency,  and,  hearing  of  a  lady  who  was 
going  directly  through  Baxter,  she  placed  Beulah 
under  her  care,  and  she  arrived  in  due  time,  with- 
out accident,  at  home. 

And  was  Beulah  unfitted  for  home  by  her  long 
absence,  and  a  different  mode  of  living  ?  No  ; 
she  entered  with  new  interest  into  all  the  affairs 
of  the  family.  She  aided  her  mother  in  house- 
hold concerns,  and  soon,  without  adding  materially 
to  their  expenses,  gave  an  air  of  taste  and  refine- 
ment to  the  interior  arrangements  of  the  farm- 
house. 


HOME.  139 

u  How  did  you  make  out  with  your  hundred  a 
year,  Beulah,  among  so  many  fine  folks,"  in- 
quired Squire  Morris,  after  Beulah  had  been  home 
a  few  weeks. 

"  O,  very  well,  father,  as  you  will  see  by  my 
account-book.  I  was  obliged  to  be  more  econom- 
ical than  I  at  first  expected,  but,  as  I  did  not  wish 
to  dress  extravagantly,  I  had  every  thing  that  so 
young  a  girl  needed. 

"  And  you  accepted  no  presents  from  cousin 
Whately  ?  "  continued  he. 

"  Certainly  not,  after  your  request,  father." 

The  Squire  looked  over  the  account,  praised 
its  neatness,  and  run  over  the  figures  to  see  that 
they  had  been  summed  up  correctly. 

"Keep  that,  my  child,  it 's  a  credit  to  you," 
said  he,  returning  the  account-book.  "  You  will 
make  a  smart,  orderly  woman,  just  like  your 
namesake.  It  's  the  best  praise  I  can  bestow  upon 
you  to  say,  that  you  deserve  the  name  of  my 
mother  ;  —  excepting  always  present  company," 
added  the  Squire,  shutting  one  eye,  and  looking 
with  the  other  at  his  wife.  "Mary  is  a  pretty 
good  name." 

One  of  the  first  visits  that  Beulah  made  after 
her  return  was  to  the  poor  blind  woman. 
13 


140  HOME. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Nancy  ?  "  said  Beulah.   . 

The  woman  started  up,  and,  extending  her  hand, 
said,  "  That  sweet  voice  can  come  only  from  lit- 
tle Beulah  Morris.  And  yet  it  is  softer  and  gen- 
tler than  ever.     They  have  not  spoiled  you." 

Little  did  poor  Nancy  imagine,  that  the  little 
Beulah  was  a  tall,  graceful  girl,  almost  seventeen 
years  old. 

"  And  who  has  led  you  to  church  during  my 
absence,"  asked  Beulah. 

"Your  kind  brother,  Medad.  At  first  I  felt 
awkwardly  to  be  led  by  such  a  tall  boy,  but  I  got 
used  to  it,  and  liked  it  in  time,  for  he  has  a  strong 
arm  to  lean  on,  and  a  strong  heart,  too,  Beulah. 
Very  few  boys  would  have  done  such  a  kind- 
ness." 

All  the  other  neighbours  were  visited  in  turn, 
and  it  was  pleasant  to  hear  them  say,  "  Why, 
Beulah  Morris  has  n't  grown  a  bit  proud  and 
ceremonious  ;  she  is  just  the  same  girl,  only  a 
great  deal  more  warm-hearted." 

Medad,  whose  intelligence  had  been  increas- 
ing, and  who  had  seen  several  other  places  be- 
sides Baxter,  proposed  that  the  farm-house  should 
be  painted  white,  and  a  porch  added  to  the 
front-door.     Moreover,   his  taste   was   not  quite 


HOME.  141 

satisfied  till  green  blinds  were  added,  and  a  new- 
fence,  with  a  neat  gateway.  When  these  im- 
provements were  completed,  and  the  garden  and 
front-yard  put  in  nice  order,  every  body  said, 
there  was  not  so  fine  a  looking  house  in  all 
Baxter. 

Azariah  and  his  wife  were  comfortably  estab- 
lished in  a  pretty  cottage  not  far  distant  from 
the  farm-house,  and  soon  after  Beulah's  return 
they  invited  the  young  people  of  the  neighbour- 
hood to  come  and  spend  the  afternoon,  and  take 
tea.  Beulah  was  much  pleased  to  find  Aza- 
riah's  wife  a  sensible,  discerning  woman,  with 
much  more  cultivation  of  mind  than  she  had  ex- 
pected. 

Azariah  very  naturally  inquired,  "  Well,  wife, 
how  do  you  like  our  Beulah  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  shall  love  her  very  much,"  she  re- 
plied ;  "  one  can  see  at  the  first  glance  that  she  is 
amiable.  Then  I  like  her  manners,  better,  I 
think,  than  any  young  girl's  that  I  ever  saw.  Did 
you  ever  notice  that  she  never  interrupts  any 
body  in  conversation,  not  even  a  domestic? 
When  she  is  talking  with  old  Cato,  she  waits  as 
patient  as  a  lamb  till  he  gets  through  one  of  his 
tedious  speeches,  and  seems  as  much  interested 


142  HOME. 

as  if  he  really  was  talking  very  much  to  the  pur- 
pose." 

"  It  's  nothing  new  ;  she  always  had  just  those 
pretty  ways.  Have  you  heard  her  play  on  the 
piano  ;  —  they  say  she  was  asked  to  play  every- 
where in  Boston,"  said  Azariah,  looking  quite 
proudly. 

"  I  have  not,  excepting  some  psalm-tunes  last 
Sunday  evening,"  replied  the  wife. 

"  Well,  you  could  n't  hear  her  then,  for  father 
and  Medad  sang  Old  Hundred,  and  Mear,  and 
their  other  old  tunes,  so  loud,  that  you  could  n't 
hardly  have  heard  a  bass-drum,  if  there  had  been 
one  there,"  said  Azariah. 

"  I  noticed  Beulah  particularly  the  other  eve- 
ning when  we  had  company,"  said  Mrs.  Azariah 
Morris.  "  She  sat  in  a  corner  where  there  was 
tattling  and  gossiping  and  scandal  going  on,  and 
she  was  perfectly  quiet,  but  I  could  see  she  looked 
a  little  sad,  as  if  it  gave  her  pain.  She  never 
contradicts  you,  Azariah,  and  when  you  make  a 
mistake  never  corrects  you.  I  thought  she  would 
be  for  instructing  us  in  a  great  many  new  ways, 
but  she  seems  to  think  we  are  doing  very  well, 
and  never  makes  any  comparisons  about  our 
house  or  furniture,  and   never  boasts  of  having 


HOME.  143 

seen  any  thing  more  expensive.  For  my  part,  I 
should  be  quite  willing  to  be  told  any  thing  from 
her  that  would  improve  our  country  ways." 

"  0,  I  guess  we  shall  jog  along,  wife,  pretty 
well  after  the  old  ways ;  —  but  I  'm  glad  you 
really  like  our  Beulah  " 


CHAPTER  XXV 


AN  INTENDED  MARRIAGE. 

Zephina  had  in  one  of  her  letters  mentioned 
that  she  was  not  very  well.  One  evening  she 
had  just  returned  home,  lighted  her  lamp,  and 
seated  herself  in  her  lonely  room,  when  she 
was  startled  by  a  loud  rap  at  the  door.  Alarmed, 
she  opened  it  with  a  trembling  hand,  and  there 
stood  Squire  Morris. 

"  Finey,  my  dear  child,  is  it  you  ?  "  said  he ; 
"  you  are  so  altered  I  hardly  knew  you." 

"My  kind  Squire  Morris!"  exclaimed  she; 
"  you  have  n't  altered  in  the  least.  Come  in,  Sir ; 
will  you  ?  " 

The  Squire  took  a  seat,  and  looked  around  the 
room,  —  then  he  seemed  troubled  with  a  sudden 
cold,  —  or  at  least  he  wiped  his  eyes  as  he  said, 
"Finey,  you  live  here   all  alone.     That  is  n't 


AN    INTENDED    MARRIAGE.  145 

right.  T  Ve  come  for  you  to  take  you  to  Baxter, 
for  my  Beulah  has  pined  for  you  ever  since  she 
got  home." 

"  You  have  come  all  this  distance  to  take  me  to 
Baxter !  "  exclaimed  Zephina.  u  What  kindness ! " 

"  O,  no  very  great  kindness  on  my  part,"  said 
the  Squire  ;  "  the  kindness  will  all  be  on  your  side 
if  you  will  consent  to  go.  Can  you  be  ready  by 
day  after  to-morrow  ?  " 

Zephina  was  silent  for  some  moments. 

"  O,  I  forgot,"  said  the  kind-hearted  man ;  — 
"  here  is  a  little  billet  from  Beulah  that  will  per- 
suade you  better  than  I  can." 

Zephina's  tears  fell  fast  upon  the  paper  as  she 
read   the   note, — -but   they  were   tears   of  joy. 

"  I  did  not  need  this  to  persuade  me,"  said  she, 
folding  it  up,  and  kissing  it.  "  It  is  enough  that 
you  have  taken  all  this  trouble  for  me.    I  will  go." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,"  said  the  Squire. 
"And  can  I  help  you  any  way  about  getting 
ready  ?  " 

"  O,  no ;  what  little  arrangements  I  have  to 
make  will  soon  be  completed."  And  Zephina 
looked  sorrowfully  around  her  room,  as  she  said, 
"  I  shall  leave  every  thing  here  as  it  is,  till  my 
return." 


148  AN    INTENDED    MARRIAGE. 

"Well,  then,  good  night;  I  stop  with  Cousin 
Whately,  and  shall  not  see  you  again  till  day  after 
to-morrow  morning,  bright  and  early.  You  look 
pale,  dear.  Miss  Morris  says  country  air  always 
suited  you,  and  she  knows  now  it  will  be  the 
best  medicine  in  the  world  for  you." 

"  There  is  no  medicine  like  kindness  for  the 
sick  heart,"  said  Zephina. 

All  needful  arrangements  were  made  on  the 
following  day,  and  Zephina  was  ready  at  the  ap- 
pointed hour.  Yet  it  was  sad  to  leave  that  place, 
enchained  as  it  was  to  so  many  touching  remem- 
brances. Amid  much  sorrow  and  loneliness,  she 
had  passed  there  many  hours  of  peace  and  con- 
tentment. 


And  Baxter  was  at  last  in  sight,  first  the  steeple, 
then  the  village. 

"  But  where  is  the  dear  farm-house  ?  "  eagerly 
inquired  Zephina. 

"  Here  we  are  home  again,"  said  the  Squire, 
as  they  stopped  before  the  gate. 

"  What,  this  white  house  with  green  blinds  ?  " 
exclaimed  Zephina,  with  a  momentary  feeling 
of  disappointment  that  it  was  not  the  same  old, 
red  house.    And  then  she  added,  "  It  is !  it  is !  for 


AN    INTENDED    MARRIAGE.  147 

there  comes  Beulah  through  that  pretty  porch." 
And  another  was  there  who  was  not  named,  and 
a  more  cordial  welcome  could  not  have  been 
given  to  the  heiress  of  millions. 

And  after  the  greetings  were  over,  there  were 
many  improvements  to  be  shown  to  Zephma.  The 
bower  had  been  enlarged,  or  rather  built  anew 
with  more  durable  materials,  and  it  was  com- 
pletely covered  with  sweet-briers  and  honey- 
suckles. 

And  there,  not  many  weeks  after,  a  conversa- 
tion took  place,  which  decided  the  future  life  of 
Zephina,  —  a  conversation  in  which  Medad  was 
the  other  party,  and  the  principal  speaker. 

The  Squire  insisted,  that  there  was  no  use  in 
putting  off  what  was  to  be  done,  and  what  every 
body  allowed  was  the  best  thing  that  could  have 
happened.  He  wanted  the  young  folks  to  be 
married  right  away;  for  he  took  all  the  credit 
to  himself  of  having  brought  it  about, — though 
he  did  allow  that  Medad  hinted  pretty  hard  about 
his  going  after  Zephina. 

"  But,"  said  the  good  man  confidentially  to 
Mrs.  Morris,  "  when  I  saw  how  handsome  Finey 
had  grown,  and  how  sort  of  stately  and  graceful 
she  was,  like  a  tall,  young  elm-tree,  my  heart 


148  AN    INTENDED   MARRIAGE. 

went  pit-a-pat  for  the  boy,  just  as  it  did  when 
I  popped  the  question  to  you,  wife  ;  and  I  think 
he  is  a  lucky  fellow  to  get  such  a  prize ;  but  he 
is  a  first-rate  farmer,  and  he  deserves  her, — 
though  he  is  our  son." 

Zephina  consented  to  name  an  early  day,  and 
in  bright  and  beautiful  June,  when  the  rose-season 
offered  its  sweetest  gifts,  they  were  married. 

Soon  after  the  marriage,  they  went  to  Boston, 
not  for  the  sake  of  a  fashionable  bridal-tour,  but 
because  the  bride  had  made  no  arrangements, 
when  she  left  the  city,  with  reference  to  the  event 
that  had  taken  place. 

The  very  day  that  they  arrived  in  Boston,  by 
one  of  those  singular  coincidences  that  do  now 
and  then  happen,  Harriet  Ann  Gunn's  name  was 
ringing  louder  than  it  ever  had  done  before.  She 
did  not  appear  at  breakfast  one  morning.  Caleb 
Prium  required  that  every  one  should  be  punctual 
in  his  family,  and  sent  a  servant-girl  to  call  her. 
The  girl  came  down,  saying  that  she  had  knocked 
at  her  door,  and  called,  but  that  no  one  had  an- 
swered, and  she  believed  the  door  was  fastened. 

Mrs.  Prium  went  and  found  that  it  was  so,  and, 
alarmed  lest  her  niece  should  be  ill  or  dead, 
called  her  husband,  and  he  immediately  burst  the 
door  open,  —  but   no    Harriet  Ann   was   there. 


AN    INTENDED    MARRIAGE.  149 

The  bureau  drawers  were  opened,  and  every- 
thing of  value  taken  out  of  them,  —  her  trunks 
and  bandboxes  all  gone.  They  at  first  thought  of 
a  robbery,  —  but  then  what  had  become  of  Har- 
riet Ann  herself?  So  great  was  their  alarm,  that 
the  girl  who  had  been  sent  to  call  her  at  length 
confessed  that  she  had  helped  her  to  pack  her 
trunks,  and  to  remove  all  her  luggage  in  the  night 
to  the  front  door,  and  that  very  early  in  the  morn- 
ing a  carriage  had  come,  and,  as  she  expressed  it, 
"  Had  taken  the  bandboxes,  and  baskets,  and 
trunks,  and  Miss  Harriet  Ann,  all  away." 

"  And  who  came  in  the  carriage  ?  " 

She  did  not  know ;  —  she  did  n't  go  to  the  door. 

Just  then  the  opposite  neighbour,  who  kept  a 
grocery  store,  came  over,  and  asked  if  Caleb 
Prium  knew  who  his  niece  had  gone  away  with  ? 

No  ;  certainly  he  did  not. 

Well,  then,  he  could  tell  him;  for  he  was 
opening  his  shop  very  early,  and  he  saw  a  car- 
riage drive  very  slowly  up  to  the  door,  and,  said 
he,  "  Out  jumped  that  rascal  who  calls  himself 
Mr.  Percy,  from  South  Carolina." 

"  And  who  is  he  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  Prium. 

"  As  great  a  scamp  as  ever  lived.  He  owes 
me  ten  or  twelve  dollars  for  cigars  and  wine.     I 


150  AN    INTENDED   MARRIAGE. 

just  discovered  yesterday  that  his  true  name  is 
Mark  Timberley,  and  that  he  has  been  in  the 
Philadelphia  Penitentiary.  But  do  n't  let  us  stop 
to  say  any  more  about  him,  for  I  heard  him  tell 
the  driver  to  take  them  to  the  Providence  Rail- 
road, and  the  cars  have  n't  gone  out  yet.  You 
may  find  them  before  they  get  off." 

Mr.  Prium  waited  for  nothing  but  to  put  on  his 
broad-brimmed  beaver,  and  reached  the  depot 
just  as  the  cars  were  starting.  He  jumped  on, 
however,  and  went  to  Providence.  There,  the 
first  persons  whom  he  saw  come  from  the  cars 
were  Mr.  Percy  and  Miss  Gunn. 

Caleb  Prium  immediately  stepped  up  to  them, 
and,  addressing  Mr.  Percy  in  a  low  tone,  said, 
"  Thee  need  n't  trouble  thyself  to  conduct  my 
niece  any  farther,  Mark  Timberley.  I  will  do 
that  myself.  Harriet  Ann,  take  my  arm,  if  thee 
does  not  wish  to  be  led  to  the  Philadelphia  Pen- 
itentiary." 

Harriet  Ann  dropped  the  arm  upon  which  she 
had  been  leaning,  and  Mr.  Percy,  alias  Mark 
Timberley,  walked  off,  very,  very  fast,  indeed. 
Caleb  Prium  attended  to  the  luggage,  and,  taking 
the  next  train  back  to  Boston,  without  a  word  of 
explanation,  conducted  Harriet  Ann  quietly  back 


AN    INTENDED    MARRIAGE.  151 

to  his  own  house.  He  handed  her  out  of  the 
carriage,  led  her  into  the  front  parlour,  and 
closed  the  door. 

"  Harriet  Ann,  where  was  thee  going  ?  "  said 
he. 

"  Going  to  be  married  to  Mr.  Percy,"  was  the 
reply. 

"  He  was  a  villain.  Where  is  thee  going 
now  ?  "  continued  Caleb  Prium. 

"  Going !  "  exclaimed  the  astonished  girl ; 
"  where  should  I  go  ?  " 

"  The  carriage  waits  for  thee  to  decide.  I  can- 
not have  thee  stay  under  my  roof  till  thee  learns 
to  respect  thyself,"  said  the  Quaker  decidedly. 

"  Forgive  me,  O,  forgive  me,  for  mercy's  sake, 
Uncle  Prium,  and  I  will  listen  to  your  advice  and 
try  to  be  all  that  you  wish,"  said  Harriet  Ann, 
with  streaming  eyes  and  clasped  hands. 

"  And  can  thee  give  up  thy  foolish,  mistaken 
notions  of  being  a  lady,  and  try  to  become  a  good 
and  useful  woman  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  I  will,  I  will  indeed,  for  I  know  I  am  nothing 
now  but  a  silly  girl,  who  has  been  led  away  by 
wrong  notions." 

"  There,  now,  thee  is  coming  to  thy  senses. 
God  grant  that  thy  penitential    tears  may  have 


152  AN    INTENDED    MARRIAGE. 

their  well-spring  in  thy  heart."  And  Caleb  Prium 
ordered  the  coachman  to  bring  in  the  luggage. 

Mrs.  Prium's  curiosity  led  her  to  make  further 
inquiries  of  Harriet  Ann.  She  learned  that  Per- 
cy, alias  Timberley,  had  attracted  her  attention 
first  in  the  street,  by  a  pair  of  large,  dark  eyes, 
black,  curling  hair,  whiskers  and  mustaches,  and 
by  his  splendid  and  fashionable  dress ;  that  he  had 
found  an  opportunity  to  be  introduced  to  her,  and 
had  often  met  her  at  her  friend,  Miss  Stiltaker's. 
He  pretended  to  be  a  rich  Southern  planter,  and 
had  induced  Harriet  Ann  to  elope  with  him  on 
the  plea  that  he  knew  positively  that  her  uncle 
would  never  consent  to  her  marriage  with  a 
Southerner,  —  a  plea  utterly  false,  for  Caleb 
Prium  was  not  a  narrow-minded,  prejudiced  man. 

Harriet  Ann's  head  was  filled  with  silly,  roman- 
tic notions,  and  she  thought  it  would  be  a  very 
brilliant  affair  to  elope  with  Mr.  Percy,  ■ — one  that 
would  make  a  great  noise  in  the  fashionable 
world,  and  be  announced  in  the  newspapers 
through  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land. 

In  the  cars  he  had  taken  her  purse  and  watch 
for  safe  keeping,  and  that  may  account,  in  part, 
for  his  going  off  upon  a  full  trot  when  Caleb 
Prium  met  him  at  Providence. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 


A  NEW  FRIEND. 

It  was  a  glorious  sunset,  after  a  lovely  day  in 
June.  The  evening  star  was  just  showing  its  sil- 
very light  in  the  soft,  blue  western  sky.  The 
Morris  family  were  seated  in  the  porch.  Thoughts 
sweet  and  pensive,  thoughts  of  early  childhood, 
were  gliding  through  the  mind  of  Beulah  Morris. 
They  were  interrupted  by  the  stopping  of  a  car 
riage  at  the  gate. 

"  It  is  Mrs.  Whately's  carriage,"  exclaimed  she, 
almost  flying  down  the  front-yard. 

The  coach-door  was  opened,  and  out  stepped  a 
tall,  fine-looking  young  man,  who  handed  out  Mrs. 
Whately.  Beulah  was  in  her  arms  in  a  mo- 
ment, and,  after  the  cordial  embrace,  Mrs.  Whate- 
ly turned  to  her  companion  and  introduced  him 
as  her  son,  Winthrop  Whately. 


154  A    NEW    FRIEND. 

By  this  time  the  Squire  had  joined  them.  "  Wel- 
come, welcome  to  Baxter,  Cousin  Whately,"  was 
his  hearty  salutation.  "  Happy  to  see  you,  and 
your  son  too,  for  I  suppose  this  is  Winthrop. 
Why,  I  have  n't  seen  you  since  you  were  six 
years  old,  and  yet  I  should  have  known  you  the 
world  over;  you  've  got  the  real  Morris  nose. 
Come  in,  come  in.  Coachman,"  he  continued, 
"  drive  into  that  big  gate  yonder,  and  put  your 
horses  in  that  new  barn  ;  this  time,  Cousin  Whate- 
ly,  I  shan't  allow  you  to  send  them  to  the  tavern." 

And  kind  Mrs.  Morris  came  forward  with  her 
welcome,  and  there  was  wondering  how  Mrs. 
Whately  could  have  spared  her  only  son  five 
years,  and  warm  congratulations  upon  his  return, 
—  and  then  it  was  proposed  that  they  should  en- 
joy the  balmy  evening  in  the  porch. 

"  But  supper,  supper,"  said  the  Squire. 

"  But  that  will  do  two  or  three  hours  hence," 
Mrs.  Whately  said,  taking  a  seat  in  the  porch. 

"  How  tastefully  you  have  arranged  your  gar- 
den and  grounds,  and  fitted  up  the  house.  And, 
Beulah,  you  love  roses  as  well  as  ever,  I  see,  by 
that  sweet  bud  in  your  hair." 

Beulah's  blush  at  this  allusion  rivalled  the 
damask  bud  that  she  had  carelessly  placed  in  her 
dark  hair. 


A    NEW    FRIEND.  155 

t;  Yes,'1  replied  the  Squire  ;  "  young  folks  will 
have  their  notions  ;  Medacl  and  Beulah  have  made 
all  these  improvements." 

"  The  rose-bushes  have  grown  almost  as  much 
as  yourself,  Beulah,  since  I  was  here  five  years 
since,  By  the  way,  where  is  Zephina?  You 
wrote  me  that  she  was  still  paying  you  a  visit,  a 
short  time  since." 

"  Married  and  gone  to  Boston,"  replied  Squire 
Morris. 

"  Married ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Whately  ;  "  and 
to  whom  ?  " 

"  To  our  Medad,  to  be  sure ;  the  boy  had  set 
his  heart  upon  her  ever  since  he  was  seventeen 
years  old.  We  managed  it  nicely,"  said  the 
Squire,  rubbing  his  hands  with  delight,  "  and  he 
has  gone  to  Boston  with  the  prettiest  bride  in  all 
New  England.  They  will  settle  down  here  in 
Baxter,  —  good  comfortable  farmers,  —  for  though 
I  Ve  allowed  them  to  slick  up  the  old  place,  I 
go  for  comfort  as  much  as  ever." 

Mrs.  Whately  expressed  great  pleasure  at  this 
event,  saying  that  she  regretted  not  being  able  to 
see  the  happy  couple  in  either  place,  and  praising 
Zephina  so  warmly  as  to  satisfy  even  the  Squire's 
partial  fondness  for  his  daughter-in-law. 
14 


156  A   NEW    FRIEND. 

The  bountiful  supper  was  soon  upon  the  table, 
and  presented  no  such  glaring  incongruities  as 
formerly. 

Winthrop  Whately  had  left  home  much  out  of 
nealth,  five  years  before,  and  travelled  in  Europe 
for  two  years  with  an  excellent  tutor.  Having 
thus  regained  his  health,  he  remained  three  years 
at  the  University  of  Gottingen,  and  had  returned 
home  about  a  month  previous  to  this  visit. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  describe  Winthrop 
Whately,  for  his  face  was  one  of  those  intellect- 
ual and  expressive  ones,  in  which  you  seem  not 
to  discern  clearly  a  single  feature.  You  see  it  as 
a  whole,  full  of  life  and  soul,  demonstrating  the 
character ;  yet  no  one  would  have  called  it  a  very 
handsome  face.  His  person,  too,  was  fine,  but  it 
was  a  noble  carriage  and  graceful  movements 
that  gave  it  its  manly  beauty.  Mrs.  Whately 
looked  at  him  with  a  mother's  affection,  and  per- 
haps a  little  of  a  mother's  pride,  for  he  had  been 
left  from  his  infancy  entirely  to  her  care  and 
management,  and  had  ever  yielded  to  her  control 
with  affectionate  docility. 

Very  early  the  next  morning,  Beulah  was  go- 
ing with  a  pitcher  of  soup  to  Nancy,  the  poor 
blind  woman.     She  had  not  proceeded  far  from 


A    NEW    FRIEND.  157 

home,  when  Rover  came  running  after  her,  de- 
lighted to  see  her,  and  jumped  with  his  great 
paws  upon  her  shoulder,  causing  the  soup  to  be 
spilled.  "  Go  away,  Rover,  you  trouble  me," 
said  she,  in  a  beseeching  tone,  but  the  playful  dog 
continued  to  jump  and  gambol  around  her,  the 
soup  all  the  while  pouring  over  the  top  of  the 
pitcher  and  down  its  sides,  and  upon  her  apron. 

While  in  this  awkward  predicament,  who  should 
appear  but  Winthrop  Whately,  coming  towards 
her.  Beulah  wore  a  large  sun-bonnet,  which  con- 
cealed her  face,  and  her  simple  morning-dress 
was  so  entirely  different  from  the  one  she  had 
worn  the  evening  before,  that  Winthrop  did  not 
recognize  her.  He  drove  away  the  dog,  saying, 
"  If  you  will  go  on,  Miss,  I  will  wait  and  see  that 
he  does  not  trouble  you  again." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Whately,"  replied  Beulah. 
"  Rover  is  quite  lonely  in  the  absence  of  his 
master,  and  glad  to  see  a  friend.  He  does  not 
know  how  much  mischief  he  has  done." 

"  Miss  Morris !  is  it  possible !  "  exclaimed  Win- 
throp. "I  did  not  expect  to  meet  you  so  early  in 
the  morning ;  allow  me  to  relieve  you  from  the 
pitcher,  which  you  appear  to  have  had  much 
trouble  in  carrying." 


158  A   NEW   FRIEND. 

"  If  you  please,"  said  she,  "  at  least  till  I  have 
taken  off  my  soiled  apron.  I  surely  did  not  think 
of  your  being  an  early  riser." 

"  I  love  the  morning,"  continued  he,  holding 
the  pitcher,  while  Beulah  took  off  the  soiled  apron, 
and,  folding  it,  wrapped  it  around  the  dripping 
vessel.  "  Early  rising,"  added  he,  "  is  not  so 
much  a  duty  with  me  as  a  pleasure ;  I  owe  my 
restoration  to  health  in  part  to  this  habit,  and  be- 
ing once  fixed,  it  is  a  very  easy  one  to  continue." 

"  There,  now,  I  can  do  very  well ;  I  am  obliged 
to  you,"  said  Beulah,  offering  to  retake  the 
pitcher.  "  Poor  Nancy  will  have  but  a  small 
breakfast  this  morning." 

"  No ;  please  let  me  carry  it  for  you,  and  tell 
me  who  it  is  for  whose  breakfast  you  are  so 
anxious." 

"  A  poor  blind  woman,  who  lives  quite  alone  not 
far  distant.  The  neighbours  take  care  of  her,  and 
I  should  have  sent  the  soup  this  morning,  but, 
hearing  last  evening  that  she  was  ill,  I  thought  I 
would  take  it  to  her  myself,  and  maKe  some  in- 
quiries about  the   poor,  lonely  creature." 

They  were  soon  at  the  door  of  a  small,  brown 
house,  where  Beulah  knocked,  but  no  one  bade 
her  enter.  She  knocked  again,  and  a  feeble 
voice  said,  "  Come  in." 


A   NEW    FRIEND.  159 

"I  fear  Nancy  is  very  ill,"  said  Beulah,  as 
she  took  the  pitcher  from  Winthrop ;  "  if  I  should 
not  be  home  in  time  to  join  the  family  at  break- 
fast, have  the  kindness  to  make  my  apology." 

"  Allow  me  to  wait  without  a  while,"  said  he  ; 
"  should  she  be  quite  ill,  she  may  need  other  as- 
sistance than  yours,  and  I  can  go  for  some  kind 
neighbour." 

"  Thank  you,  I  will  see  how  she  is,"  and  Beu- 
lah entered.  The  poor  woman  lay  almost  life- 
less and  deathly  pale. 

"  My  good  Nancy,  are  you  very  ill  ?  "  tenderly 
asked  Beulah. 

"  Is  it  you,  Beulah  ?  "  faintly  articulated  the 
woman. 

"  Yes ;  I  have  brought  you  some  soup,  can 
you  take  a  little  ?  " 

"  No  ;  water,  fresh,  cool  water,"  was  the  reply. 

Beulah  went  to  the  door  and  handed  a  cup 
to  Winthrop,  requesting  him  to  draw  deep 
from  the  old  well  a  cup  of  cold  water.  He 
did  so ;  while  Beulah  threw  aside  her  sun-bon- 
net, arranged  neatly  the  covering  of  the  bed, 
and  opened  the  windows  to  admit  the  fresh  air 
of  the  morning.  When  she  attempted  to  give  the 
water  to  Nancy,  she  found  that  the  poor  crea- 


160  A    NEW    FRIEND. 

ture  could  not  swallow  without  being  raised  up, 
and  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  do  it,  and  at  the 
same  time  give  her  the  water.  Nancy's  eager- 
ness for  it  was  intense.  "  Water,  cold  water," 
she  repeated. 

Beulah,  without  further  hesitation,  called  in 
Winthrop  to  her  assistance,  for  she  feared  the 
poor  woman  was  dying.  He  came  and  raised 
her  tenderly,  while  Beulah  held  the  water  to  her 
lips.  She  drank  it  with  avidity  and  was  some- 
what revived. 

"  Beulah,  my  child,"  said  she,  "  I  am  almost 
gone  ;  send  for  some  one  to  be  with  me." 

"  I  will,  Nancy.  I  have  a  friend  here  who  will 
go  for  any  one  you  will  name.  Can  you  lie  down 
now  ?  " 

"I  will  try ;  it  is  a  strong  arm  and  a 
strange  one  that  supports  me,  I  thank  himt  who- 
ever it  is." 

And  Winthrop,  placing  the  blind  woman's  head 
gently  upon  her  pillow,  withdrew  his  arm,  much 
wondering  at  this  quickness  of  perception. 

"  Beulah,  my  sweet  child,  how  kind  you  have 
always  been  to  me.  May  God  reward  you,  but 
I  am  too  sick  now  for  your  youthful  experience. 
Send  for  Nurse  White,"  said  Nancy.  "I  shall 
not  need  any  one  long." 


A    NEW    FRIEND.  161 

Beulah  now  stepped  to  the  door  with  Winthrop, 
and  pointed  out  to  him  the  house  of  Nurse 
White,  saying  she  would  wait  until  she  came. 
Winthrop  went,  reflecting  with  surprise  on  the 
readiness  with  which  that  delicate  young  girl  re- 
mained alone  with  the  dying  blind  woman. 

Beulah  sat  down  by  the  bedside.  Nancy  was 
for  a  while  silent,  excepting  a  low,  indistinct 
moaning,  at  intervals.  At  length  she  said,  "I 
cannot  collect  my  thoughts,  and  I  wish  to  pray. 
Will  you  pray  with  me,  Beulah  ?  " 

Beulah  knelt  by  the  bedside,  clasped  her  hands, 
and,  lifting  her  eyes  to  heaven,  uttered  a  short 
and  fervent  petition  in  behalf  of  the  dying  woman. 

As  Winthrop  returned  to  say  that  the  nurse 
wrould  soon  be  there,  he  passed  by  the  low,  open 
window,  and  the  touching  scene  within  met  his 
eye.  He  saw  that  youthful  countenance  uplifted 
while  the  heart  was  in  communion  with  the 
Father  of  spirits,  and  the  scriptural  expression, 
"  the  beauty  of  holiness,"  was  for  the  first  time 
revealed  to  him,  in  all  its  fulne&s  of  meaning. 

Towards  evening  of  the  same  day,  Beulah 
glided  out  unobserved,  and  went  to  inquire  after 
Nancy.  When  she  reached  the  door,  Nurse 
White  met  her,  and  informed  her  that  the  poor 


162  A    NEW    FRIEND. 

woman  had  died  a  few  hours  after  she  left  in  the 
morning. 

Beulah  asked  why  they  had  not  sent  to  her 
father's  for  any  assistance  that  might  have  been 
needed. 

"  O,"  said  the  nurse,  "  the  good  young  gentle- 
man that  came  for  me  this  morning  left  his  purse 
with  me,  begging  me  to  see  that  poor  Nancy 
wanted  for  nothing.  But  that  is  not  all ;  he  was 
here  when  she  died,  and  no  one  else  was  with 
her  but  me,  and  he  was  so  kind  and  gentle,  and 
gave  such  sweet  consolation  to  the  dying  woman, 
—  equal  to  any  minister.  And  poor  Nancy  had 
her  reason  to  the  last,  and  blessed  the  stranger 
with  her  dying  breath.  I  told  him  the  neighbours, 
would  have  taken  care  of  her,  and  paid  the  ex- 
penses of  her  funeral,  for  they  had  always  been 
kind  to  her ;  but  he  only  said,  if  they  had  en- 
joyed the  privilege  of  doing  good  so  long,  he 
ought  to  have  the  opportunity  now.  And  he 
was  very  urgent,  that  I  should  not  tell  all  this 
to  any  one,  but  I  thought  I  might  just  mention 
it  to  you,  because  you  always  took  such  an  in- 
terest in  the  poor  soul  who  is  now  at  rest." 

Beulah  walked  thoughtfully  homeward,  and  on 
her  way  she  was  joined  by  Winthrop,  but  their 


A   NEW   FRIEND.  163 

walk  was  almost  a  silent  one  ;  they  were  too 
much  inclined  to  serious  meditation,  at  that  soft, 
twilight  hour,  after  the  solemn  events  of  the  day, 
to  be  communicative.  Yet  they  had  in  that  sin- 
gle day  become  better  acquainted  with  each  oth- 
er's true  character  than  they  would  have  done 
in  the  ordinary  intercourse  of  society,  in  months, 
or  perhaps  years. 


15 


CHAPTER   XXVII 


THE  FUTURE  MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

"  Well,  Cousin  Winthrop,"  said  Squire  Morris, 
three  or  four  days  after  the  arrival  of  the  Whate- 
lys,  "  well,  Cousin  Winthrop,  what  did  you  see 
in  foreign  countries  equal  to  these  United  States  ?" 

"Not  any  thing  that  I  love  half  as  well," 
he  replied. 

"  Now  I  like  that,"  continued  the  Squire ; 
"you  have  n't  come  home,  then,  as  some 
youngsters  do,  puffed  up  with  pride,  despising 
Yankees.  I  am  right  glad  that  you  have  brought 
back  a  good,  sound,  healthy  heart,  true  to  your 
own  kith  and  kin." 

"  Perfectly  so,"  replied  Winthrop ;  "  I  never 
loved  them  half  as  well  before." 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  for  the  good 
of  your  own  countiy,  now  you  have  travelled 
and    got  knowledge   at   a  foreign  University  ?  " 


THE    FUTURE    MOTHER-IN-LAW.  165 

"  I  am  thinking  of  being  a  lawyer  ;  partly  be- 
cause it  was  the  profession  of  my  father  and 
my  grandfather,  and  because  I  think  I  am  perhaps 
better  fitted  for  it  than  for  any  other.  What  do 
you  think  of  the  profession,  Miss  Morris  ?  " 

"  I  have  always  thought,  that  if  it  had  been  for 
me  to  choose  a  profession,  I  should  have  pre- 
ferred the  legal  one  to  the  clerical,  that  I  might 
have  done  good  to  my  country  in  many  ways 
which  are  only  open  to  the  lawyer  or  the  states- 
man," replied  Beulah. 

And  Winthrop  Whately's  decision  was  fixed 
for  the  law. 

After  a  week  delightfully  spent  at  Baxter,  Mrs. 
Whately  and  her  son  took  leave  of  the  kind  and 
hospitable  family  at  the  farm-house,  and  were  on 
their  journey  homeward. 

Not  a  word  had  been  spoken  for  several  miles. 
At  length  Mrs.  Whately  remarked,  "  Winthrop, 
you  are  a  dull  companion  this  morning." 

"  Ma'am !  What  is  it  ?  Did  you  speak  to 
me  ?"  said  he,  startled  from  his  reverie. 

"  I  merely  said  that  you  were  very  dull  this 
morning." 

u  I  am  at  your  service ;  what  shall  we  talk 
about  ? " 


166  THE    FUTURE    MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

"  Beulah  Morris,"  was  the  direct  reply.  "  What 
do  you  think  of  her  ? " 

"  That  chimes  in  very  well  with  my  own 
thoughts,  for  it  was  of  her  I  was  thinking.  She 
is  the  most  lady-like  girl  that  I  ever  saw  in 
America." 

"  And  I  think  you  are  quite  cured  of  your  par- 
tiality for  foreign  manners  by  remaining  so  long 
abroad." 

"  I  like  American  manners  when  they  are  not 
spoiled  by  affectation,  and  an  attempt  to  imitate 
foreigners.  I  wish  our  people  would  be  more 
independent  in  that  respect.  They  ought  not  to 
despise  themselves  because,  forsooth,  every  Eng- 
lishman who  darts  through  the  country  sees  fit  to 
ridicule  their  manners  for  differing  from  his  own. 
Just  so  they  have  always  ridiculed  French,  Italian, 
and  Dutch  manners.  John  Bull,  after  all  his  pre- 
tensions, is  not  the  standard  for  the  world,  in 
this  respect." 

"I  am  glad  you  like  the  manners  of  my  young 
friend.  They  are  simple  American  manners,  yet  I 
never  saw  her  do  a  rude  or  uncivil  thing,  nor 
heard  her  speak  an  impolite  word  while  she  was 
with  me.  Her  gracefulness,  too,  was  remarked 
by  every  one  who  saw  her ;  she  alone  was  uncon- 
scious of  it." 


THE    FUTURE    MOTHER-IN-LAW.  167 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  more  about  Beulah, 
mother,  mine  ?  I  thought  she  was  a  girl  of  thir 
teen  or  fourteen  by  the  way  you  spoke  of  he/ 
before  we  left  home." 

"  I  think  it  injudicious  to  praise  an  absent  friend 
too  highly ;  I  never  do  it.  I  seldom  spoke  of 
you  while  you  were  absent,  "  said  Mrs.  Whately. 

"  I  am  glad  you  did  not,  for  when  Beulah  Mor- 
ris is  a  little  older,  I  may  want  to  speak  to  her 
for  myself  in  a  cause  that  will  involve  deeper 
interest  to  me  than  any  with  which  my  future 
clients  will  ever  intrust  me." 

"  You  have  my  best  wishes  for  your  success, 
Winthrop,"  said  his  mother.  "  Many  have  I  seen 
as  polished  and  refined  as  that  lovely  girl,  some 
more  beautiful,  and  others  more  intellectual,  but 
never  one  who  acted  out  so  clearly  the  all-per- 
vading principle  of  her  life,  '  Do  unto  others  as 
you  would  that  others  should  do  unto  you.' 
'  Whatsoever  things  in  her  are  pure,  lovely,  or 
of  good  report,'  flow  from  this  divine  principle, 
and  render  her  the  true  Christian  lady." 

THE    END. 


